My Lady Deceiver

by Freda Lightfoot

  In the days and weeks following, relations between husband and wife remained outwardly cool. Deep inside, Bryce couldn’t help but admire her stoic courage, the way she persisted with the improvements in the servants’ quarters, defiantly standing up to his mother whenever Lydia criticised the project.

  ‘Why would servants need more space?’ she’d ask when Rose arrived late and flustered for dinner, with dust in her hair and paint on her chin looking very like a daub of cream. If only it was, then he could take her up to bed and lick it off. He could smooth his hands over her soft skin, caress her lovely breasts, and make love to her as he had in those wonderful early days of their marriage. Bryce was jerked out of these nostalgic yearnings by his mother’s voice rising in pitch. ‘They should know their place and not demand curtains and rugs, and goodness knows what else. This is a complete waste of your time and my money.’

  Rose’s response was to smile sweetly. ‘Now there, I’m afraid, we must agree to differ, Lydia. Even the lowest kitchen skivvy, in my view, deserves respect and decent living conditions. And as I’ve nothing else to do with my time, I’m more than happy to help with the cleaning and painting. It’s fun, as a matter of fact, and so far has cost nothing. The house seems to have stocks of everything, if one only knows where to look.’

  Again, Bryce was filled with admiration for her courage. How she had changed!

  ‘But those things belong to the estate, not to you, madam,’ Lydia scolded.

  Rose started on her soup, making no reply to this. Nevertheless, Bryce could see the hurt in her eyes, the pain it cost her to always be looked upon as an outsider with no rights. No wonder she was championing the staff.

  Nothing more had been said between them about the lies and deceit she’d practised upon them, the fraud she must have perpetrated. Bryce still hadn’t made up his mind how to deal with what he’d discovered. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Joe’s confession, it was simply that he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. And when he revealed the truth to the rest of the family, announced that what they’d suspected was absolutely correct, she would surely leave.

  But was that what he wanted, or did she deserve a second chance?

  Right now Bryce felt too deeply injured by her trickery to be tempted by the sorrowful expression in her eyes whenever she looked his way. There were occasions still when he would find himself filled with regret, his love for her impossible to deny. Only to see the sadness in her lovely face, the tremor of her lower lip, made him want her all the more. The way she moved, the sweet scent of her, the tenderness of her touch stroking his back as she lay beside him in bed was like a constant knife in his heart, his need for her was so great. However much he might resist the urge to turn and take her, he could never dispel that longing.

  But he must ever remember that she had deceived them all. She was a liar and a cheat. Jago had been right all along.

  ‘May I join you on your ride this morning, brother?’ Jago asked. ‘There’s something I wish to discuss with you.’ Bryce paused as he was about to mount Godolphin, surprised by this request. His brother was no rider, had never been particularly fond of the sport, not unless he was chasing a fox.

  ‘If you feel so inclined.’

  It was a bright summer’s day, the sun dappling the leaves as they guided their horses at a gentle trot through the woods. As they reached the headland, Bryce urged Godolphin into a canter, a soft sea breeze whistling in his ears as the two brothers rode unspeaking across the open pasture. He loved Cornwall, had dreamt of living contentedly here with his wife to the end of his days. Now, Bryce was seriously contemplating an alternative future, perhaps going away to sea, anything to avoid seeing Rose every day, knowing their marriage was effectively over in all but name.

  ‘I’ll race you,’ Jago called.

  ‘You’re on,’ and kicking his heels in the horse’s flanks, Bryce urged the young stallion to a gallop, riding it hard, testing it to the limit. He and Jago had often raced each other as boys, and, just as then, it was no different now, with Bryce easily beating his brother.

  ‘My horse is lame, so I was forced to take this much quieter mare,’ Jago complained by way of excuse as they reined their horses back into a steady trot and then to a quiet walk to allow them to gently cool down.

  Bryce laughed. ‘And you do so hate to lose. So, what is it you wished to say to me that couldn’t be said in the house?’

  ‘Can we dismount and walk for a bit?’

  ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ Bryce quipped, but obediently dismounted. Leaving Godolphin, along with Jago’s mare, tied to a nearby tree where he could happily crop the grass, they set off in a parody of companionship along the coastal path. Bryce was wondering why it was the pair of them had never been bosom pals but always at odds, his brother fiercely competitive, as if needing to prove himself the whole time.

  Now, having brought him out here for some private conversation or other, Jago was taking an unconscionable time in coming to the point, walking along sunk in deep thought. Determined not to make it easy over whatever was troubling him, Bryce remained silent, and concentrated on admiring the view. He watched the waves crashing upon the rocks below, then being sucked out again taking broken branches and other flotsam and jetsam with them. He felt rather like those bits of wood, as if he was being tossed about by a huge ocean with no control over his life, least of all his own happiness.

  Jago had started to speak. ‘I’m aware things are not going as well as you’d hoped in your marriage at the present time.’

  Despite the distance which had sprung up between himself and Rose of late, Bryce was at once on the defensive. He knew that he would resent it greatly if his brother became involved in their marital dispute, perhaps by naming Rose’s lover, or claiming she was again engaged in an affair. ‘That is none of your business.’

  ‘I believe it is. I’ve discovered something about your wife that I think you should know.’

  Bryce felt himself bridle. ‘And what that might be? Take care what you say.’

  ‘What I have to say cannot be avoided. I’m sorry to have to tell you, brother, that she is a fraud.’

  Bryce stifled a sigh, inwardly furious. So now it would all come out, how Jago had been right to distrust Rose and her alleged son. And he would have to listen to his crowing, as if he hadn’t already heard enough of the sorry tale from Joe. ‘I’m sure you will enjoy telling me what you mean by that.’ His tone was cautious, bored even, yet Bryce felt deeply nervous of what must follow, let alone what his own reaction would be. Was he prepared to forgive Rose, if only for the love he still felt for her, or would that love soon turn to hate when he contemplated the depth of her deceit? Perhaps it rather depended upon her motive. Was she greedy and avaricious like his brother, or had she merely been needy and foolish with a child to protect? Had it been a planned crime or an opportunistic folly?

  As it turned out, the crime, as described to him by Jago, was far worse than Bryce could ever have dreamt possible.

  ‘Rosalind Tregowan, or Rose as we now know her, is not who she claims to be. Her real name is Rosie Belsfield. I was always doubtful about whether the child was legitimate, and that point remains uncertain. Unfortunately the real Rosalind tragically died on board ship, allegedly while giving birth, although we have no proof that this child is hers. Rose either stole the boy, or Rosalind’s child died and she put her own bastard in its place, presumably in order to make herself a fortune.’

  Bryce had stopped dead in his tracks, was staring in stunned disbelief at his brother. ‘I don’t believe a word of this.’

  ‘I’m afraid you must. And there’s worse to come.’

  By the time Bryce had heard the rest of Jago’s garbled version of the tale he was striding as fast as he could back to the tethered horses. ‘If this is some damned plot of yours to rid yourself of Rose and that boy, some lie you’ve made up, then I’ll see you in hell before I—’

  ‘It’s no lie, I assure you,’ Jago shouted, h
urrying to catch up as Bryce flung himself into the saddle and set off at a tearing gallop across the grass towards the woodland. But by the time Bryce reached the house he saw at once that he was too late. A large horse-drawn Black Maria was at the door, and Rose was already being led out into the courtyard by two policemen, an expression of bewildered disbelief on her lovely face.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to inform you, sir,’ said the sergeant, ‘that we’ve just charged your wife with murder.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘I’ve told the police sergeant that she’s innocent. Rosie would never murder anyone, she’s far too sweet and nice. But he won’t listen.’ Joe was sitting with his head in his hands at the kitchen table, almost sobbing with fear. He’d never felt so dreadful in all his life. This was not at all how things were meant to work out when he’d first come up with the notion. His plan had been to keep them comfortable and safe, and set them up with a bit of cash before they slipped away to marry with a nice little nest egg in their pockets. Now his lovely Rose was facing a murder charge. ‘How has this come about? Why won’t he believe me?’

  Tilly put her arms about him. ‘Because the police don’t work that way. Your word isn’t good enough, Joe, not if they think they have evidence against her.’

  ‘What evidence could they possibly have when she didn’t do it?’ His cheeks were wet as he looked up at Tilly in desperation. ‘This is all my fault. I told the sergeant that it was my idea for her to pretend to be Lady Rosalind, but once he’d questioned me and learnt that I wasn’t actually present at the lady’s death, he said I could go. He’ll contact me if he has any more questions, he says, otherwise I’m off the hook. But Rosie is still on it. I can’t bear it! They might hang her! Oh Lordy, what have I done?’

  ‘A good question, what have you done, Joe?’ Bryce stood before him, his face ashen. ‘I’m willing to listen to the whole sorry tale, so long as you swear to tell the truth this time.’

  Joe eagerly nodded, anxious to rid himself of the guilt that was weighing him down, hoping that a confession might somehow make it all come right. ‘I’ll tell you everything, I swear, exactly as it was. But it ain’t a pretty tale.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it is. Tilly, put the kettle on, I think we’re all going to need a strong cup of tea. And get rid of those gawking maids. I’d rather have this conversation here, in the kitchen, than up in the parlour where Mama is having the vapours and my brother is preening himself like a peacock.’

  Tilly rushed to do his bidding while Joe wiped his nose on his sleeve and began at once to talk, gabbling so fast that Bryce put out a hand to stop him.

  ‘Slow down, Joe. I’m listening, but it’s essential you don’t panic and tell the tale properly.’

  Joe took a breath to calm himself, wishing his heart would also slow down instead of pounding like a tom-tom in his head. ‘I’ve known Rosie since we were nippers together in Bristol. She lived in a flea-ridden cellar, and my lot at that time were all crowded in a miserable room next door. Neither of us knew where our next meal was coming from but Rosie was my best friend, always good fun, and I loved her. Still do. Though happen not in quite the same way, not anymore.’

  He glanced up at Tilly when he said this, but she turned away, not seeing the pleading in his gaze. Joe struggled on. ‘When my family did another of their moonlight flits, I stayed and moved in with the Belsfields. They were lovely, treating me as one of their own.’

  He sniffed and rubbed at his moist eyes with his sleeve, and Bryce handed over his own clean handkerchief. Joe stared at the perfectly embroidered monogram in the corner of the folded linen, then set it down on the table without using it, feeling himself unworthy of such pristine beauty.

  ‘After her dad died in the Boer War, and her mam’s sister sent the money for them to go to America, I asked if I could go with them and they said I could. ’Course, Rosie kept on telling me she didn’t feel the same way about me as I did about her, so I wasn’t to read anything special into this. We were just friends, no more. But I was certain I’d win her round in the end. And I might have done, had it not been for you.’ Joe looked at Bryce, yet there was neither anger nor jealousy in his eyes now, only a terrible fear for his dearest friend. ‘Maybe the better man won. I’m not fit to clean her shoes, not anymore. Seeing as how she’s grown into such a fine lady.’

  ‘So what happened on that ship to America? How did you meet Rosalind?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘It didn’t happen on the way to America, it happened on the way back. It was after Rose had been rejected by Ellis Island and was to be shipped off home without a soul in the world to care for her.’

  Tilly brought the tea at this point, pouring them each a cup from the large brown earthenware teapot. As the two men helped themselves to sugar and milk, Tilly silently took her own cup and went to sit beside Joe. He smiled down at her, grateful for her support, clutching hold of her hand beneath the table and loving the gentle warmth of it in his.

  ‘Tell me about Ellis Island, and why Rose was rejected.’

  The story took a long time as Joe felt the need to fill in all the details, to describe the horror of the place, and compare the poverty and starvation they’d left behind in Bristol with their hopes for a better life in the new world. Then he explained about the eye test and how it had all gone terribly wrong. He lingered over the story of Rose’s sickness on the return journey, unable to resist painting himself as something of a hero. The part concerning Rosalind took no time at all, since he knew little of the relationship between the two women, or what had been agreed between them.

  ‘I didn’t even know the lady was dead until we docked at Bristol and I met up with Rose again. I couldn’t believe me eyes. There she was looking all posh in milady’s best gown, and carrying a pink parasol, apparently so she’d be recognised by whoever came to collect Miss Rosalind.’

  ‘That would be where I came in.’

  ‘Aye, and just before you arrived, sir, was when I made my big mistake.’ Joe freely confessed that the deception had been all his idea, how they’d argued fiercely as Rose vehemently objected. ‘So you see, it were all my fault. Rose never approved, and refused to go along with it. Then I dropped her right into it by telling you that I was her manservant. Did she give me an earful on that train going down to Cornwall.’

  Bryce had largely listened in silence to a recital of this tale, now he almost smiled. ‘She can be quite formidable. Ask my mother. So tell me, Joe, given that you’d “dropped her in it” as you say, why did she not speak up and tell the truth? She had countless opportunities. You both did.’

  ‘She had to protect little Robbie, didn’t she?’

  Bryce got impatiently to his feet. ‘Stuff and nonsense! Robbie was in no danger at all. I’ve listened to these excuses long enough. Quite frankly, it’s a pity she didn’t manage to knock any sense into that bone head of yours. But then perhaps the pair of you deserve each other. Mama was right, neither of you possesses a moral bone in your body. But all of that aside, what of this charge? Did she tell you how Rosalind died?’

  Joe looked bleak. ‘She blamed the doctor, said the poor lady had bled to death.’

  ‘Hmm, well, we’ll just have to hope she can prove that, along with the rest of this unlikely tale.’

  Bryce glared at him so fiercely, clearly struggling to control his temper, that Joe half expected him to lash out and sock him one. He would not have resisted, or attempted to fight back if he had, rather believing that he deserved a good thumping, in view of what was happening to Rose. Instead, Bryce calmly concluded, ‘Now I suppose I must visit my wife in jail and see what she has to say about all of this. Then face the reality of whatever happens next.’

  What happened next so far as Joe was concerned was that they were interrupted at that moment by Gladys rushing in, cheeks aflame and quite out of breath. ‘The police are back, and this time they’ve come for Joe. He’s to be charged as an accomplice, and with fraud.’

  Rose didn’t have an
y tears left to shed. She’d cried herself dry that first night, wrung every last tear from her body till there was nothing left, and still she hadn’t slept a wink. But then the hard, biscuit-like mattress that passed for a bed was not meant to offer much in the way of comfort. Nor was there any warmth in the cell as the damp ran down the walls, cockroaches and mice scuttled about in the darkness, and the whole place stank of urine, filth and stale sweat. The warden had told her she was fortunate to be given a cell of her own, but she didn’t feel fortunate, not in the least. Rose felt as if her life was over.

  All the second day she’d waited and waited, hoping against hope that Bryce would come and rescue her, that someone would tell her it had all been a terrible mistake and she wasn’t to be tried for murder after all.

  No such miracle had occurred, and she’d faced a second night all alone, locked in her prison cell. How many more lonely nights would follow?

  On the third morning she was brought before the magistrates and remanded in custody to await trial.

  ‘When will that be?’ she’d asked the warden as he’d locked her back in her cell.

  ‘When the judge has time to hear your case. Could be months.’

  ‘Months! But I’m innocent,’ she cried as he clanged shut the door.

  ‘Aye,’ he laughed. ‘That’s what they all say.’

  So now Rose sat in stunned disbelief, a feeling of dread growing inside her over how long she would have to spend locked up in this cell, and what would happen if the judge didn’t believe her version of events. How could she prove her innocence without word from the doctor? But then no one had been with her when Rosalind had actually passed away early in the morning, not even the steward. What if they presumed her to be guilty and she was told that she’d be hanged by the neck until dead?