He eased himself off the silken sheets, unwilling to look at her any longer. He felt unclean, knowing that whatever the excuse, he had betrayed Morwen and their marriage. If he sometimes felt guilt at neglecting her, his guilt would be ten-fold now.
‘I’ll see that you’re well-paid,’ he growled, pulling on his clothes with all speed.
‘And you’ll visit me again, Cornishman?’ she suddenly smiled, all the beauty back in her face.
‘No. I can safely say that I shall never visit you again,’ he said, and left her staring at him in surprise.
He paid the Madame, and looked around for his companion. Hartley-Hogg was nowhere to be seen, and Ben decided to while away his time at the gambling tables, partly because he could hardly leave without saying goodbye to the man, and partly because the lure of the card-games was beginning to make his fingers itch. And it would take his mind off his infidelity.
It was a long while since he had gambled, but tonight seemed to be a night for renewing old enemies, and he knew that the fever could soon take hold of him again. He could control it, of course. He’d always been able to do so, and he would never be like some of these raddled old men, pathetic in their last gasp attempts to win back their losses… Ben had always been lucky.
* * *
‘Jesus, old boy, you’ve made a packet!’
He couldn’t have said how long he’d been sitting there, numb and tense, but with adrenalin flowing in his veins, when he heard Hartley-Hogg’s voice. His neck and shoulders ached as he flexed them, but the pile of bank-notes in front of him was mountainous.
‘Are you joining me?’ Ben realized that his throat was dry from holding his breath. Every turn of the card was an excitement, every win a boost to his ego. Hogg shook his head.
‘I think not. My stomach’s empty and I shan’t be able to concentrate. I suggest we go back to my house and rouse my manservant to cook us some breakfast.’
‘Breakfast?’ Ben said in surprise.
‘It’s nearly four in the morning, old boy. If you’re planning on going home to Cornwall today, you’d better get an hour’s shut-eye, at least.’
‘All right, Piggy. And thanks. It’s been a good night,’ Ben said expansively, the memory of Darianna’s attentions already fading. If he tried hard enough, he could forget it ever happened, at least when he was so weary he could hardly see straight. He stuffed the bank-notes into his pocket and the two of them stumbled out into the freezing morning air.
It was still dark, but a thick, choking, yellow fog hung about the streets. For a moment Ben was disorientated. He was totally lost in any case, not knowing how many streets Hogg’s carriage had taken them. He heard Hogg say he’d call for his man to come and get them, when suddenly it felt as if all the demons in hell had descended on them.
Though not on Hartley-Hogg, except when he got in their way and tried to help Ben… even as he heard himself screaming at the vicious punches to his guts and his tender parts, and felt the searing slice of a knife on his cheek, Ben realized it wasn’t Hartley-Hogg for whom they had come. It was for Ben that the six of them had been patiently hiding in the darkness…
‘I’ve waited a long while for this, you Cornish prig,’ he heard Neville Peterson scream in his ear. ‘I knew there’d be a time for me to get even. You won’t find your breeding tackle so comfortable, nor will your stuck-up wife find you so pretty when we’ve done with you.’
Two of his companions held Ben’s flailing arms while Peterson aimed his boot into Ben’s crotch. Others aimed at his face and chest. There was nothing he could do. All the expertise in the world couldn’t stop them, and he felt his teeth rattle in his head as blow after blow found its. His groin was one mass of pain, and when he realized Hartley-Hogg had fled, he wondered bitterly if he had been a party to it.
Minutes later, he knew thankfully that it was not the case, when the man returned with several constables, the sounds of their whistles piercing the night. Before there was any danger of them being caught, Peterson and his cronies ran off, swallowed up in the London fog, and Ben lay groaning in agony in the filth of the gutter.
‘Are you all right, Sir?’ one of the constables asked.
‘No, I’m not bloody all right,’ Ben lashed through badly cut and swollen lips, his voice a blur of sound.
‘You’d best get him to hospital, Sir,’ another constable said to Hartley-Hogg. ‘He looks fair injured to me, and there’ll be statements to be made, and charges made—’
‘No!’ Ben said as sharply as he could, despite the fact that his chest hurt every time he breathed, and he felt as though every bone in his body was broken. ‘There will be no charges—’
‘Ben, you must!’ Hartley-Hogg exclaimed. ‘They’ve got to pay for this!’
‘You’ll do as I say! But I’d be very obliged if you’d get the carriage and get me some medical attention, for I fear I’m about to black out at any minute.’
The entire universe seemed to be dancing about in a haze of yellow fog. The constables’ helmets floated in circles of blue above him, their faces pale moons of light. God, he wished he could black out. He wished he never had to feel the pain… just as long as he had impressed the need for no charges to be made. Nothing that would mean court appearances, and newspaper reports, revelations of where he had spent the last hours, the mention of Captain Peterson’s name, and the shame and the horror of it reaching Morwen, and Freddie…
‘I’ll take care of him, Constable,’ he heard Hogg’s strong voice say. ‘The culprits will be far away by now, and there’s no point in trying to pursue them.’
‘Very well, Sir,’ the man said in frustration. ‘Just get your friend attended to, for he looks in a real bad way.’
They helped Piggy lift Ben into the carriage, an ordeal more excruciating than he let them see. His face felt split wide open, and the cold night air made it sting as if from a hundred needle-points. And then he remembered nothing more until he awoke in a hospital bed with two doctors inspecting his body. There was an agonizing tightness on his cheek, and when he touched it, one of the doctors spoke sharply.
‘No, Mr Killigrew, your face is stitched. It will be less painful in a few days when the stitches are removed.’
‘How long have I been here?’ And why in God’s name did he feel so sluggish and drugged, as if everything around him was happening in slow motion?
‘Three days,’ the doctor said. ‘Your friend has given us details of your accident, and has been to visit you daily—’
‘Three days! Dear God, I should get home!’
He made to sit up, and the room swam as pain rushed into every part of him. The second doctor pushed him back on the pillow, and spoke impatiently.
‘My dear Sir, you will not be going anywhere until your wounds have healed. You were very badly beaten up, and whatever it is you’ve been rambling about will have to wait.’
Ben answered furiously. He was enveloped in pain, he realized, and it even hurt to breathe. His head felt as though it was stuffed with sheep’s wool. He was irritated by the doctor’s reference to his rambling. It wasn’t a word he liked to associate with himself, but the devil of it was, he couldn’t remember what it was that was so all-fired important for him to attend to.
He wasn’t an idiot, and nor had he lost his memory. He knew his name and his business… he forced his brain to respond…
‘The scaggies!’ he groaned. The medical staff glanced at one another, clearly thinking their patient might be demented to be uttering such strange words. Ben made himself sound more authoritative.
‘Patch me up and arrange for a carriage to take me to the railway station,’ he ordered. ‘It’s imperative that I get back to Cornwall immediately. My wife will be sick with worry—’
Morwen had been a secondary thought. It had been the clayworks that were all-important, but a wife should realize that a man’s work was the mainstay of all of them. He brushed aside his guilt, and was obliged to listen instead to what these fools of docto
rs had to say. He felt impotent and vulnerable while they towered over him.
‘Mr Killigrew, please listen. Your friend has sent a messenger to inform your wife of what’s happened, and to say that you will be confined in this hospital for a week or so while we make sure you are fit to travel, and make certain tests.’
‘Nobody’s keeping me here for weeks!’ Ben felt as though he roared, but the stitches in his cheek tugged and smarted so keenly that he had to speak through tight-clenched lips. ‘And what tests, may I ask? A few cuts and bruises won’t kill me—’
‘No, but a faulty heart valve might.’
Ben stared at the man, his gimlet eyes daring a patient to argue with his suspicions. Faulty heart valve? What nonsense was this? He was as strong as any man…
All his arguments made no difference. They let him rave for a while and then simply turned and left him alone in the small white room, having been assured by Hartley-Hogg that there were ample funds to pay for private attention. Ben stared at the ceiling, refusing to believe what he had heard. He was a young man in his prime, with a beautiful wife and five healthy children. Heart defects were for old men, and he had every intention of living until he was ninety.
For the first time in his life, stirrings of fear seeped into him as he lay quite alone, and realized that, whatever his intentions, he was too weak and in too much pain to simply get dressed and walk out. He was as helpless as a child, and the thought of submitting to medical tests was making him less arrogant by the minute.
* * *
Two days after Truro Fair, back at Killigrew House after the excitement of staying away from home for a night, Morwen was informed that there was a visitor from London. She looked up from her sewing in surprise. It was someone to see Ben, presumably, and he should have been back yesterday.
Her father had already been to Killigrew House in some annoyance, with news that the Pit Captains were incensed that Ben was still away gallivanting when a boss should be at hand whenever there was a crisis brewing. It was the first time Hal had referred to the state of Killigrew Clay in crisis terms, and Morwen knew it must be serious for him to do so.
She had tried to play down the fact that Ben was still away, her own annoyance coupled with the feeling of guilt over her feelings for Ran Wainwright making her pompous and sharp with her father.
‘Really, Daddy, you shouldn’t let the men rule you. If Ben wants to stay away a bit longer he has every right to do so. He’s the boss, after all—’
‘Oh ah, and he’ll be a boss without a clayworks if he don’t keep his eye on what’s afoot,’ Hal said grimly. ‘And don’t come the high-and-mighty boss’s wife wi’ me, Miss. You’m still my daughter, and I don’t need ’ee telling me how to behave.’
She bristled for a moment and then her blue eyes laughed back at him.
‘I’m sorry, Daddy, but I’m sure Ben has a perfectly good reason for staying away. He has strong ties with his college and now he’s so important, they probably expected him to stay and be sociable.’
She tried not to notice her small shiver. The ties with Ormsby College included Ben’s hatred of Neville Peterson.
And if her father was angry, then Morwen was angry too. It piqued her to know that just when she had decided that harmony must be restored to their marriage, and had every intention of moving back into the marital bedroom, Ben stayed absent.
And now there was a visitor from London. She waited curiously until Mrs Horn showed the man into the drawing-room. He seemed not quite at his ease, though looking mildly surprised to find a luxurious house in good taste so far away from London. Morwen hid a smile. Cornish folk were not all rogues and vagabonds, despite what those from upcountry England thought.
‘Forgive me for disturbing you, Madam, but I bring news of your husband.’
Morwen was alarmed at once. ‘Of Ben? What’s happened? I was expecting him home yesterday—’
‘May we sit down, Mrs Killigrew? I think it would be best.’
After a startled second, she sat down abruptly, motioning him to do the same. Her heart pounded. There was clearly something wrong, and she prayed that Ben’s quick temper hadn’t landed him in any trouble with the law.
‘My name is Hartley-Hogg, and my brother is an old friend of your husband. They were re-acquainted at the governor’s ceremony at Ormsby College, for which my congratulations on your husband’s behalf, dear lady.’
Now that he was here, he was acutely embarrassed, knowing it was best that he kept some of the details from this beautiful young woman. Though why Ben Killigrew should want to visit a high-class brothel and gaming establishment when he had such a wife at home was beyond Royston Hartley-Hogg. He wished he had not volunteered to come here, and let his brother Desmond send the telegraph instead. But it had seemed so cold and brutal to inform her that way, and Royston had been vastly curious to see this strange, wild corner of England and had decided to spend a few days exploring it.
‘Will you please tell me why you have come, Mr Hartley-Hogg?’ Morwen said quietly, fighting down the sudden desire to laugh at the ludicrous name.
‘I’m afraid your husband has been slightly injured in a street brawl, Mrs Killigrew, when some ruffians set upon him. He’s not badly hurt, but he needed some stitches and is badly bruised, and will have to stay in hospital for a short while—’
‘Dear Heaven!’ Whatever she had expected to hear, it wasn’t this. ‘He’s in hospital? Then it must be serious—’
‘No, no!’ Her distress made him agitated. He prayed that she wouldn’t faint. He was a respectable bachelor by choice, and women’s infirmities were out of his range of experience. ‘My brother has sent you a letter explaining everything. Please read it, Mrs Killigrew.’
He thrust it under her nose, thinking that even her sudden pallor became her. She read the letter quickly. According to his friend, Ben had been grossly unfortunate. It was a risky business being out and about in London in a thick pea-souper, whatever that was, and the villains had set upon them before they could shout for help. Hartley-Hogg assured Morwen that he would visit Ben and send daily telegraphs on his progress until Ben himself was able to send word that he was coming home.
‘Have you seen my husband?’ she asked her visitor.
He was unused to such directness in a lady’s gaze, and found it both disarming and alluring. And it did not allow for any prevarication.
‘I am not acquainted with the gentleman, Madam,’ he said. ‘But I assure you my brother will carry out any task you wish. You have only to send a telegraph back to him.’
‘You’re very kind.’ Now that the initial shock was lessening, Morwen remembered her manners. Ben was obviously in good hands, and the letter had reassured her a little.
‘Forgive me for neglecting to offer you some tea, Mr Hartley-Hogg. You must be in need of refreshment after your journey.’
‘Thank you, no. I will be on my way.’
He rose at once, to Morwen’s great relief, for if she had to repeat the name once more, she was sure she would succumb to hysterical laughter, and that would be appalling. She thanked him again and rang for Mrs Horn to show him out. The hysterical laughter was still dangerously close to the surface as she folded the letter carefully and bit her lip, feeling it tremble.
Ben… her dearest Ben… was in some strange hospital, lying hurt and bruised, and probably in the very moments that the attack had been happening, she had been on the brink of a delicious flirtation with an American cousin…
‘Morwen, what’s happened? Darling, you look stunned. Has something happened to one of the children?’
She heard Ran Wainwright’s voice as if from a distance. The cool American accent was something she found undeniably attractive, and her new awareness of the caring look in his dark eyes now, all added to the feeling of guilt that overcame everything else. He touched her arm, and she wrenched it from him as if stung by a hornet.
‘It’s nothing to do with the children. It’s Ben. He’s been hurt and he�
�s in hospital in London, and I must go to him!’ She hadn’t considered it until that moment, but now she saw that she must. She saw something else too. ‘And I’d ask you please not to call me darling! I’m not your darling, and I’ll thank ’ee to remember it!’
The words tumbled out, and when they were finished, she crumbled. Without another word Ran took her in his, and held her sobbing body close to his heart. And each of them was acutely aware that nothing could ever change this magnetism between them, not guilt nor anguish nor duty…
Chapter Nine
‘I shall take you to London,’ Ran said calmly, when Morwen had shown him the letter.
‘It’s not necessary—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Morwen. You can’t travel alone. I would be a poor cousin if I couldn’t chaperone you.’
She gave the glimmer of a smile. And who was going to chaperone the chaperone? But there were more important things to consider, and she was thankful, after all, for Ran to take over and to help reassure the children and her parents.
If Ben was to be away longer than expected, it was up to Hal now to pacify the men and keep Killigrew Clay running as smoothly as possible. He and Bess hugged their daughter as she and Ran prepared to leave for London the following morning, after a whirlwind of packing for the few days Morwen assumed they would have to stay.
‘Don’t worry about anything here, my lamb,’ Bess said. ‘I’ll see that the children don’t run wild, so just you go and satisfy yourself that Ben’s all right. Thank God you’ve got a responsible relative to look after you.’
Bess wholeheartedly approved of Randell Wainwright. What would her gentle mother think, Morwen wondered uneasily, if she knew of her daughter’s unbidden dreams about the handsome American? However unprovoked, Morwen knew they were adulterous dreams, and now she was being brought sharply back to reality in this rush to be at her husband’s bedside, as though it was a punishment. She hugged Bess tightly.
Family Ties Page 11
