by Jo Beverley
Thorn said, “But the plan and the news sheet proposing it, those were entirely a creation of Helena Drummond?”
“From what I heard, Your Grace, yes.”
“Do you have anything else to add that you think might be of significance, Mistress Spencer?”
Ellen Spencer considered, almost a different person now in her neat composure. “Only that the ladies here cannot possibly be traitors, Your Grace. Some are silly and some are bitter, but all are honest and loyal.”
A sensible woman, but unkind, Bella thought, glad to see Ellen Spencer’s back.
Thorn looked at Bella. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Flint. Do you agree with Mistress Spencer’s assessment of innocence?”
“Completely, Your Grace.”
He looked down at a list. “Whom do we have left? Miss Sprott, Mistress Ormond, and Miss Abercrombie. We’ll see Miss Abercrombie next.”
Bella was concerned about Betsy. She had been an enthusiastic supporter of the Drummonds, perhaps simply because she was a weak woman always attracted to the strong, but she was also silly, and might say something to incriminate herself. Thorn seemed to guess that, however, and asked her simple questions. Out of good sense or terror, Betsy volunteered nothing.
Hortensia was next and she exuded hostility, but she kept her words brief and to the point. As she’d detested the Drummonds, it came out well. Clara Ormond was so obviously just a sweet, elderly lady that no one could suspect her of anything.
When she left, Thorn said, “And there we have it.”
“Not quite,” said Bella. “There’s Agnes Hoover, Lady Fowler’s woman. Now her mistress’s body is in its coffin she may be persuaded to speak with you, if someone else keeps vigil.”
Thorn turned to Norman’s clerk. “Can you attempt to find the substitute, sir? Perhaps Miss Evesham would be the most suitable, but whichever lady is willing.”
The clerk bowed and left.
As soon as he was out of the room, Thorn said quietly, “This clerk is mine, as is Mr. Delibert, a solicitor. We can speak freely for a moment. We’re attempting to interest the king in leniency. If this can be achieved, he may send someone to investigate on his behalf. It’s crucial that each and every lady is clearly sober, righteous, and conventional.”
Bella twitched her brows at him, but said, “I understand, Your Grace. I must thank you again for your efforts.”
Lud! Was he going to find someone to impersonate an emissary of the king?
Norman’s clerk returned then, and soon Agnes Hoover arrived. She was as stoical in bereavement as she’d been all along, but she gave a damningly caustic description of the Drummonds. Her opinion of the rest of the women wasn’t kind, but it offered no basis for prosecution.
Once she’d left, Thorn said, “Thank you, Miss Flint.”
Bella wanted an opportunity to speak to him privately and persuade him to end this dangerous deception, but she had to stand, curtsy, and leave.
Thorn hated to have Bella out of his sight, and he hated to leave her worried about his safety. He could see no reasonable opportunity to reveal that he was, in fact, the duke. It could scatter her wits and she needed all her resources to get through the next days. As soon as the ladies were all safe, however, he would explain everything and hope for happiness.
The sooner, the better. He sent for Norman. “It’s my opinion that all these ladies are innocent and should be set free.”
“With respect, Your Grace, I do not agree. Clearly some were willing accomplices of the Drummond sisters, or more. In fact, that is what the Drummonds claim.”
Damn him. He enjoyed exploding that without warning.
“You have the Drummonds?”
Norman smirked. “Yes, sir, and they claim Miss Abercrombie and Mistress Spencer were enthusiastic participants. My clerk informs me the Spencer woman admitted as much.”
“She admitted to compulsion.”
“Because she feared prosecution for murder.”
“I can assure you, Norman, that no one died and no one is going to bring a case over that.”
“The Drummonds also claim that Miss Flint was a supporter of their cause and often said as much to them.”
Snakes indeed, Thorn thought. Vipers. They either were determined to destroy others with themselves, or were cunningly trying to link their fate to those who might be rescued.
He’d hoped not to have to try to interest the king, for George was unpredictable in such matters, but it was now the only course. Rothgar, of course, had been right.
He’d toss in an explosion of his own. “You should know that the king is interesting himself in this matter, Norman, and is inclined to leniency—apart from the Drummonds, of course.”
Norman’s lips tightened. “I understood that His Majesty was much incensed.”
“But only against the true villains.”
“I will await confirmation of that, sir.”
“Of course. You have your duty to do. But I would advise a respectful approach. Some of these ladies, including Mistress Spencer, have powerful people concerned on their behalf. Even in addition to myself.”
Thorn collected his clerk and returned home, working through the next moves of the dangerous game. He realized he’d never played for such high stakes before in his life, and hoped never to do so again. The stakes were high because Bella’s very life was at risk.
Chapter 31
Thorn prepared carefully for the audience with the king. It would be private, so full court grandeur was inappropriate. However, the king had appointed St. James’s Palace as the location, which made it extremely formal. It also warned that His Majesty was not necessarily kindly disposed.
Joseph had laid out velvet, dark blue but lightly embroidered. Thorn approved, exchanging only the waistcoat for a more ornate one. “We don’t want to look funereal.”
After careful consideration he decided not to wear a powdered wig, but that did mean summoning the coiffeur to arrange his hair more carefully. In the end, with subtle jewels and his orders, he felt he’d achieved the best possible appearance, but he intensely disliked feeling even slightly anxious.
He presented himself to Tabitha for comment. She blinked.
“No advice?”
“Eee-ah.”
“Totally incomprehensible.” Thorn looked into the basket. “Where, ma’am, are your offspring?” He looked around and saw Sable perched on the back of a chair, attempting to look ferocious. Georgie was sitting on the floor. Thorn picked him up and placed him beside the other kitten. “If only the other Georgie were as easily manipulated,” he remarked, and left the room.
As Thorn had anticipated, King Georgie was on his high horse. He was offended, much offended, by the violent intentions of the women. It offended every law of man, God, and nature, and an example must be made.
“Of the Drummond sisters, indeed, sir, but these other ladies are not of the same type at all. We have a curate’s sister, and a dean’s widow, a gentle, elderly lady, and one who will sadly never find a husband. They gathered around Lady Fowler only because they had no other refuge.”
Thorn was finding it hard to strike the right note. He was a petitioner, but the king would never believe any groveling and Thorn doubted he could stomach it. In general their relationship had been distant, especially as at one point they’d both been interested in pretty Lady Sarah Lennox.
George probably thought he looked severe, but to Thorn’s eyes, his expression was closer to a pout. “They should accept the refuge of the head of their families, what?”
“Alas, in some cases that gentleman is very far removed from them, and they are wary of putting themselves entirely in his power. Being decent ladies, sir.”
“I see, I see. Unfortunate, what?”
“Very, sir, especially as it has led to their predicament. Unthinkable, I’m sure you’ll agree, that such decent ladies be thrown into a prison.”
Thorn watched anxiously as the king took a turn around the room, hands clas
ped behind. George stopped and glared. “I did not think you the sort to be involved in such a matter, Ithorne.”
Thorn had been prepared for that. “I wasn’t, sir, but I was asked to interest myself. By Lord Rothgar, among others.”
“Rothgar, eh? He sent a letter on the matter. Decent women, what? No rebellious tendencies?”
Thorn suppressed thoughts of Sprott, and possibly Bella herself. “Absolutely not, sir.”
“Need to marry, what?”
Thorn realized that was addressed to himself. “I do hope to do so soon, sir.”
“Excellent. Sets a man’s thoughts on his duty and posterity, what? Wipes away foolish days.”
So you still think of Sarah Lennox, do you? “I do hope marriage will enrich my life, sire.”
“Enrich, enrich. Excellent, what? And children. Many children, what?”
Fearing they were heading in a different direction, Thorn said, “So, may I set the ladies free, sir?”
The king stiffened, and then he twitched in an odd way. ’Struth, don’t let him throw a fit over this. At least they weren’t alone. Lord Devoner was gentleman-in-waiting, looking bored, and a statuelike footman stood against the wall.
Thorn played his last card, the one he’d hoped not to have to use. “Perhaps I could present the ladies to you, sir, so you could assure yourself of their decency and loyalty.”
The king twitched again, and he was frowning as if aware of the problem. But then he said, “Yes, yes! Splendid notion. But I will see them where they are. I will see this house. I will sense it. I will know it.”
Thorn realized the concerns were valid: the king wasn’t entirely sane. The ramifications of that were for later, however. Now, the main concern was Bella’s safety and this odd decision. Thorn had expected George to summon them here, or to some other royal location, and had depended on that to cow the rebellious Sprott. There was no help for it, however, and he had no means to send a warning.
He tried one deflection. “Lady Fowler is recently dead, and some evidence of her illness lingers in the air, sir.”
But the king glared at him. “Are you trying to conceal something, Ithorne?”
“Absolutely not, sir.”
They left almost immediately, in a plain carriage without outriders, because the king wished to be incognito, but the grooms were armed, and two armed gentlemen rode not far away. They arrived in Grafton Street without incident, though the guard on the door looked in danger of an apoplexy when he saw who was approaching.
Norman went white, then red, and then began to sweat. Thorn enjoyed that.
“The ladies?” Thorn asked.
“In the parlor, Your Grace,” Norman said, “having finished their dinner not long ago. An excellent dinner, I assure you.”
The king was looking around at the very ordinary house. “Smells unclean,” he said. “Poor housekeeping, what?”
Thorn didn’t remind him that he’d been warned. “Shall I summon the ladies before you, sire? There’s an unused room over here.”
“No, I shall brave the lionesses in their own den, what?” George had turned genial, which was a good sign. He liked to be a benefactor. “Which way?”
Norman sprang forward to open the parlor door and announce, “His Majesty, the king!” so Thorn didn’t even see what the king saw.
When he followed, he smiled. Bella had done her work well, of course.
All six ladies were there, all rising to their feet, astonished. They’d been engaged in needlework, except for Mistress Abercrombie, who had been reading to them.
The king sat down.
Thorn was relieved that all the ladies realized they should remain standing.
“Read on!” George commanded.
Unsteadily, Mistress Abercrombie did. By chance or design, her choice of reading was some sort of sermon on humility. The king listened for a few minutes, nodding. Then he said, “Enough. Enough.”
The room went silent, and all eyes fixed on him. Most were anxious, though Thorn could almost feel Miss Sprott strain at not being able to speak. Bella was the most composed, but even she was wary.
“You have all been very foolish,” the king said. “It is never good for women to lack male guidance, and here we see evidence of that. Lady Fowler’s peculiar behavior commenced only after the death of her husband.”
A sound escaped Sprott, but was changed into a cough.
“I am told that none of you ladies has a gentleman of your family in a position to protect you, what?”
He was answered by murmurs and nods, but seemed to see that as appropriate incoherence.
“Very well, then. I take you under my wing. I will be as a tender father to you.”
Thorn was having a great deal of trouble keeping a straight face, especially when he could see Bella’s struggle to do the same thing.
But then it ceased to be amusing. “As my proxy, I appoint His Grace the Duke of Ithorne. You will submit to him, and he will keep you from such folly in the future.”
The blank silence stretched dangerously, but then Ellen Spencer saved the day. She flung herself forward on her knees before the king, hands clasped in front. “Your Majesty! You are too kind, too noble! To do so much for foolish women such as we.”
It was the kind of performance the king enjoyed, but Thorn thought it was completely honest. The others followed her example. Mistress Evesham looked extremely wry and Miss Sprott as if she were choking, but they went to their knees. Bella did so too, her head bowed low.
Thorn realized something then.
At some point since he’d entered this room, she would have realized the truth.
She’d held to the belief that he was Captain Rose, but no one would dare continue such an impersonation when it involved the king in person. His hands were clenched in the effort not to rush to her now to try to explain.
He had one clear ironic thought: Rothgar would have managed this better.
Bella was simply stunned.
She should have realized when he’d first mentioned involving the king, but she’d assumed yet more deception.
At first she’d seen no one but the king and been intent on presenting exactly the right appearance while keeping an eye on the others. It had only been the words “Duke of Ithorne” that had driven home the fact that he was here. She’d looked and seen and known.
Quite apart from the fact that he was at the king’s side, he was now every inch the court aristocrat, in velvet and jewels, the heels of his shoes high, his hair elaborately dressed. Impossible to imagine him facing down ruffians in the Black Rat.
That must have been the true Captain Rose, Ithorne’s half brother.
This was the duke, but a while ago Thorn had been here. The man she’d traveled with, who’d helped her vanquish Augustus, couldn’t be this one. Were the two so close in appearance they could work together in this?
She couldn’t sort out what was what and who was who. As drama happened around her, she tried to do her bit whilst most of her mind struggled over who had been Rose and who had been Ithorne.
Whom had she confronted in that room at the Compass?
Who had read to her in the Hart?
Who had made devastating love to her?
She was hardly aware of the king and the Duke of Ithorne leaving the room, but then had to snap alert to deal with exclamations of relief and murmurs of new concerns. Apparently they were to immediately remove to the duke’s house and had only a half hour to collect their possessions.
“Placed in his power!” declaimed Hortensia. “This is vile.”
“Count your blessings,” said Mary Evesham sharply. “Let us all do as we’re told. I cannot wait to be out of this house.”
“Oh, yes,” said Clara, and hurried away.
The rest followed, but Bella said to Mr. Norman, “I have no possessions here. I had to borrow the essentials last night. May I go to my house to collect some items?”
He was losing people to bully and turned his spite on her
. “You go nowhere, ma’am, except where you are sent. His Grace will decide the rest.”
So Bella returned to the parlor and her needlework, but it lay idle as she continued to puzzle over identities.
The half- naked Rose in the Compass had seemed confused by her. She’d taken it for drunkenness, but perhaps he hadn’t known what she was talking about. He must have been the real Captain Rose, but that would mean the Duke of Ithorne had rescued her in the Black Rat and staggered in apparent drunkenness through the Dover crowd.
Which meant Ithorne had been with her on that adventure to punish Augustus. No wonder he’d not been worried about dealing with Lord Fortescue. How amused he must have been at her alarm. No wonder he hadn’t felt able to marry her. The whole idea was ridiculous.
Anger was welcome for it could cloak pain, but she made herself remember that he had come here to rescue her, and for that she would be grateful all her days. She wished he’d told her the truth in Upstone, but she’d lived enough lies and disguises herself to understand how they could entrap.
What to do now, however? She could only hope he would allow her to leave with Mr. Clatterford for Tunbridge Wells and agree that they should never see each other again. That would be painful, but to be in his home for long, knowing how impossible her dreams were, would be torture.
The impossibility of a future was nailed down when they arrived at Ithorne House. The ladies climbed out of the three carriages and were escorted into the grand entrance hall. Of course, Bella had been here before, but it had been a theater set, all unreality. Now it was very real, and very awe inspiring.
The walls were dark, divided by half columns of golden marble. The ceiling was painted with gods and goddesses ascending into impossibly high clouds, as if to assert that this place was not for ordinary mortals. The floor was marble tile, and she did remember that. It had looked simple amid the mock Italian square, but now looked luxurious.
Thorn was there. . . .
No, not Thorn. Ithorne. He put each lady into the care of a maidservant who would take them to their rooms. Bella, however, he asked to speak with. She supposed this had to be, but she wished she could disappear to some modest bedchamber and weep.
