My Lady Deceiver

by Freda Lightfoot

  A voice inside of Rose’s head was screaming, even as outwardly she remained silent and frozen, paralysed by fear.

  And why hadn’t Bryce come?

  On the fourth morning she was told there was a visitor to see her. Her heart gave a leap of hope. He was here, he hadn’t forgotten her after all. She quickly smoothed down her hair, straightened the grey prison gown in which she was now dressed, both looking somewhat grubby and unkempt. She pinched her cheeks to bring some colour into them, desperately wanting to look her best when she saw Bryce, for didn’t he love her and would never let her down, which was surely what he’d come to say? He probably regretted their quarrel now, and all that nonsense about his marrying her for money.

  Waiting for her in the visitors’ room was Mr Wrayworth. Disappointment flooded through her, coupled with a terrible grief for the love she had once believed in and which seemed to have been entirely false. The old solicitor grasped her hands, and giving them a little squeeze gently steered her to a chair, clucking softly like the proverbial mother hen.

  ‘Dear, dear, what a pretty pickle this is. But let us come directly to the point—’

  ‘Before you do that,’ Rose interrupted. ‘What of Bryce? Why didn’t he come himself?’

  Mr Wrayworth cleared his throat, looking oddly embarrassed. ‘Master Bryce is otherwise engaged at the present time. In addition, he considers that your best chance of release is to have proper legal representation, which is why he has sent me in his place.’

  Rose saw no reason why Bryce couldn’t have come as well, but didn’t say as much. She had no wish to appear ungrateful. ‘I certainly do need help, Mr Wrayworth.’

  ‘And you shall most certainly be given it. Not for a moment, dear lady, do I believe a word of this charge. I’ve already made my views upon the matter very clear to the sergeant, although as you will appreciate there appears to be a slight question of integrity. You have apparently been less than honest with all of us, and are not in fact Lady Rosalind Tregowan.’ He looked at her in his kindly fashion, one bushy eyebrow raised, as if she were a naughty schoolgirl.

  ‘No, I’m sorry to have deceived you all, but it’s true, I’m not Rosalind. No doubt you’ve been told the whole sorry tale by this time.’ Shame brought a blush to her cheeks. ‘I deeply regret what we did, Joe and I, but it was for little Robbie, do you see? I couldn’t just hand him over to complete strangers without checking the Tregowans out first. Nor did I think they’d allow me to do that if they knew I was nothing more than some bit of rubbish rejected from Ellis Island.’

  Mr Wrayworth frowned. ‘Don’t speak of yourself in such a derogatory way, dear. I’m quite sure you acted with the best will in the world; unfortunately your friend perhaps had less altruistic motives.’

  She could hardly deny it. ‘How is Joe?’

  The solicitor swiftly explained that he too was in jail, although facing a lesser charge. ‘I will do what I can for Joe too, but it is your own situation which concerns me the most. Tell me the whole story, please. I’d like to hear it in your own words.’

  It was only when she actually explained out loud how it all came about that Rose truly saw the depth of her own stupidity. She should never have allowed this to happen. If she’d spoken up and been honest from the first, she would not now be in this dreadful situation.

  When she was done, and Mr Wrayworth had finished writing his notes, he invited Rose to ask any questions of her own. But instead of querying what the outcome might be, as the solicitor clearly expected, ready to answer as diplomatically as possible, she instead asked how the truth had been revealed.

  ‘Do you know who discovered our secret, who told the police?’

  The solicitor started to gather up his papers, as if suddenly anxious to be on his way. It appeared to be a question he was unable, or unwilling, to answer. ‘Do not worry your head about such things, my dear. I shall call again next week, and keep you fully informed of any progress I make on your behalf.’

  ‘You must find the doctor, or the steward. They will speak up for me, I’m sure,’ she cried, desperation making her voice crack.

  Mr Wrayworth sighed, even as he patted her hand in sympathy. ‘Unfortunately, my dear, such peripatetic persons are rarely in one place long enough to locate, let alone ask them the necessary questions. But you can be sure that I will do everything in my power to secure your acquittal.’

  Rose looked into the face of this elderly man of whom she had grown quite fond, and believed that he would keep his word to do his very best for her. But she could also see in the way he failed to meet her gaze that he held little hope of success.

  ‘Please give my love to my husband, and tell him … tell him … that I never meant to deceive him … and that I’m sorry.’

  Rose had so badly wanted it to be Bryce who came, instead of Mr Wrayworth, for then she could have told Bryce to his face how she had done this out of love, not out of greed – love for Robbie – and then later she had kept quiet for fear of losing him.

  After the solicitor had gone Rose was silently escorted back to her cell, the door clanged shut and the huge key turned in the lock. It was only then, as the bitterness of her disappointment struck, that the tears started again, and she knew she faced yet another sleepless night.

  ‘The first thing to be done, Mama, is to rid ourselves of that child.’

  ‘Oh, I do so agree! How very clever of you to have exposed his cheat of a mother. Well done, darling. The thought of that brat walking off with our inheritance gives me the shudders. Deal with it at once, will you, dear? I won’t enquire where you send him, but I’m quite sure you’ll find somewhere suitable for an illegitimate orphan.’

  Jago’s thin lips quirked with pleasure at the prospect. ‘I shall set about the task immediately.’

  ‘Excellent! My first job this morning is to revert all those ridiculous sops of comfort that interfering madam put in place for the servants,’ Lydia said, giving the bell pull a sharp tug. ‘Goodness me, the woman was a complete liability. How dare she walk in, steal our money and then lord it over us! What a relief to be rid of the silly chit’s interference at last. Now do start making the necessary arrangements without delay, before Bryce discovers what we are about. We don’t want him creating difficulties.’

  ‘You can leave the matter safely in my hands.’

  ‘I know, darling,’ and Lydia kissed her son, full on the lips, as she so loved to do.

  Mrs Quintrell entered just as Jago was hurrying away, anxious to put their agreed plan into effect.

  ‘Was there something you wanted, milady?’ the housekeeper politely enquired.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Quintrell, you can tell everyone to move back into their original rooms.’ This order was met by a strangely blank look. Paying no heed to the housekeeper’s frowning silence, Lydia blithely continued with her instructions. ‘And make sure that all fripperies such as curtains, rugs and personal items be removed. This is not a hotel for layabouts, the servants are here to work, and should carry out their duties without distractions. Please see to it at once.’

  The housekeeper cleared her throat, finally finding her voice. ‘I’m sorry to have to say this, milady, but I very much doubt they’ll agree to that.’

  Lydia stared at the woman askance, eyes wide with shock that anyone should dare to cross her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The fact is, milady, being cold in your bed with not enough covers on, nor even the comfort of a hot-water bottle, is more distracting. A person can’t sleep, so starts work tired every morning. Now everyone is warm and cosy they sleep well and come to their duties properly refreshed. The staff also like to have enough light so’s they can write home to family, or read quietly for a few minutes before falling asleep.’

  ‘I will not have my maids reading twopenny novels.’

  ‘They’re more likely to read letters from loved ones, or the beauty pages from the Woman At Home magazine, although some do like to read their Bible, milady. It’s worth remembering tha
t. And they’re all nicely settled in now. The rooms have been cleaned and decorated, they have more space for their belongings and more pride in themselves as a result. Even the menservants are happy to keep their rooms clean now. I wouldn’t like to comment on Miss Rose’s present situation, milady, but what she did for the servants was a good thing. I see that now.’

  ‘It is not your place, Mrs Quintrell, to comment on anything. I cannot believe I’m even hearing this.’

  ‘I could ask them, if you like, see what they have to say on the matter.’

  Now Lydia put a hand to her head, which had suddenly started to ache, her shock was so profound. ‘I have never, in my entire life, asked a servant what they have to say about anything, and have certainly no intention of starting now.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, milady, but times are changing and I’m only suggesting that mebbe it might be wise. A happy staff is an efficient one, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Lydia almost laughed. ‘I’m not interested in whether or not they are happy. They are here to work, not to enjoy themselves. Pray do exactly as I say, woman. If they do not like it you can tell them they have no choice in the matter. Either they move back to their original rooms as they were before that chit interfered, or they can collect their wages and leave forthwith. And that goes for you too, Mrs Quintrell.’

  The housekeeper’s eyes glittered, but, bobbing a curtsey, all she said was, ‘Thank you, milady.’ At which point she was dismissed and sent about her business.

  Later that afternoon Lydia was comfortably drowsing on her favourite sofa when she woke with a start to hear the clock chime five. ‘Goodness gracious, it surely can’t be that time already?’ She was quite alone, Bryce about some business matter or other in Fowey, and Jago presumably making the necessary arrangements. ‘Why wasn’t I brought tea at four o’clock, as usual?’ Lydia muttered to herself as she angrily tugged on the bell pull.

  No one came. For once Mrs Quintrell did not instantly obey the summons, as she normally did, not even a housemaid came running. Furious at being ignored, and desperate for her tea, Lydia tugged the rope again. No response.

  ‘What on earth is happening?’

  Snatching open the door, she marched out into the hall. Nothing would induce her to go down the backstairs to the kitchen. Heaven forfend, it was not her place to go chasing after servants. Instead, she stood at the head of the stairs and shouted.

  ‘Mrs Quintrell? Gladys? Where is everyone? I require tea in the small parlour, if you please. This minute!’

  Returning to the sofa, she waited. By half past five when still no tea or delicious scones had arrived, Lydia decided no one could have heard her, and the bell must be faulty. She went across to the library and pulled the bell pull there instead. Waiting with barely constrained patience, foot tapping, arms folded, her cheeks had grown quite scarlet by the time Lydia realised no one intended to answer that one either. She next tried the drawing room, and the dining room, where the same thing happened. No one was responding to any of her calls. It was as if the house were deserted, suddenly devoid of servants.

  Only then did Lydia notice that no fires had been lit. They had all been laid that morning, as usual, by the parlourmaid, who should by rights have come to light them by now so that the rooms had time to warm up before dinner. It was already beginning to go dark and not even the lamps had been lit or curtains drawn. Both the dining and drawing rooms felt cold, barren and decidedly gloomy.

  Back in the hall, and having abandoned all hope of afternoon tea, Lydia stamped off upstairs to change, calling her maid as she usually did at this time. Gladys did not arrive.

  ‘That stupid girl surely does not expect me to struggle into my dinner gown by myself? Where is she?’

  When there was still no sign of Gladys by half past six, and no answer to her increasingly frantic tugs of the bell pull, Lydia was obliged to don the simplest gown she could find. She was raging by the time she returned to the library, where she would normally expect to find Rowell serving drinks. Jago was helping himself to a whisky but there was no sign of the butler. At least the fire was lit now, and she gave a small sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank goodness, these housemaids must be half asleep today. No afternoon tea and not even Gladys to assist me to dress for dinner. I shall have something to say about that. Oh, do pour me a gin and it, darling, I feel quite fraught.’ Sinking into the comfiest chair, she asked, ‘Where is Bryce?’

  ‘Gone out. I was just thinking of doing the same, probably to my club in town,’ Jago remarked, swallowing his whisky in one gulp. ‘I very much doubt there will be any dinner tonight.’

  ‘Good gracious me, what are you talking about?’

  ‘I am reliably informed that the staff are on strike.’

  Lydia laughed out loud. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  ‘I’m perfectly serious.’ Jago shrugged on his coat, which he’d left draped across the back of a chair. ‘I think you’ll find they are objecting to being sent back to those squalid little dormitories like naughty schoolchildren. I think you may have to back down on that one, Mama. Best of luck, anyway. Oh, there are a few nuts and raisins in the cocktail cabinet. Those might keep you going for a while.’

  Lydia treated her son’s remarks with the disdain she considered they deserved, and quietly sipped her gin after he’d gone. But later, when she wanted her glass refilled, when eight o’clock came and still no dinner gong had sounded, she was grateful for the nuts and raisins. She realised then that Jago must have been speaking the truth. By ten o’clock the fire had fallen to ashes, and still no one had answered her frequent and increasingly furious tugs of the bell. Lydia decided she had no alternative but to retire to her bed, cold and hungry and very angry. She might very well dismiss the lot of them come morning.

  By breakfast time, however, when she found no warming dishes filled with bacon, sausage and scrambled egg waiting on the sideboard, no toast or hot coffee set ready, she had second thoughts. This time the housekeeper did come when called, perhaps scenting victory.

  ‘I may have been somewhat hasty in making a decision, Mrs Quintrell, but I’ve been giving that little matter we discussed yesterday more thought. You may inform the servants that they can stay in the newly decorated rooms.’

  ‘Thank you, milady,’ the housekeeper politely remarked. ‘And would milady care to order breakfast now?’

  ‘Oh, yes please. That would be lovely.’ Lydia knew when she was beaten. Her personal comforts were everything to her.

  Mrs Quintrell only just managed not to smile as she bobbed a curtsey and hurried to inform the staff of their success. Later that same morning, having suffered yet another sleepless night and skipped breakfast entirely as he had no appetite, Bryce was sitting in a sheltered arbour in the rose garden. It seemed somehow appropriate as he again gloomily contemplated the horror of Rose’s situation. He kept going over and over in his mind the story Joe had told him. He was also filled with guilt for not having been to see Rose yet, but then he was desperately trying to sort out his true feelings. Did he still love her? He could not deny it, although a part of him hated her too for having brought this catastrophe upon them. Did he believe her guilty of such a crime? Surely not. Rose was the gentlest, sweetest soul, so loving and caring, both of himself and the child.

  Then what exactly had happened to Rosalind? Whose was this child? How had this whole stupid charade come about? If he went to the prison and asked Rose to explain her version of the story, could he trust her answer? Did he even want his marriage to continue?

  His thoughts were interrupted as Tilly came running to him, quite out of breath. ‘Oh, thank goodness, I’ve found you at last, sir. I’ve been searching for you an hour or more. Master Jago has taken Robbie.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bryce stared at Tilly in dismay. ‘Taken Robbie where?’

  ‘I really don’t know, sir, but Master Jago just walked into the nursery first thing this morning, picked Robbie up and carried him away. Sc
reaming and kicking like a banshee, he was, poor lamb. I ran after them, of course, asked where he was taking the child. I was told it was none of my business but that my services as nursemaid would no longer be required as he was to be sent to a home for orphans forthwith, which was where he belonged.’

  Bryce was on his feet in a second. ‘But that’s entirely wrong. He can’t do that. The boy isn’t an orphan. It would appear that we have no proof he is even illegitimate as he could very well still be Rosalind’s child. Where the hell has my brother taken the boy? I must put a stop to this at once.’

  He strode off at a cracking pace back to the house, Tilly scurrying along behind, but Jago was nowhere to be found. Lydia calmly informed her younger son that he’d left in the motor at first light, with John driving, destination unknown.

  ‘Did he have Robbie with him?’ Bryce barked out the question, making his mother flinch.

  ‘Of course. The child cannot possibly stay here.’

  ‘Why can’t he?’ Bryce repeated what he had already said to Tilly, who was even now standing behind him, her face a picture of distress with tears running down her cheeks. ‘Rose may have tricked us all with this silly charade but that child could still be Rosalind’s son, the young baronet.’

  Lydia snorted her derision. ‘If you believe that then you are a greater fool than I took you for, and you have most certainly behaved like one. I do not believe a word that girl says, nor that lover of hers, Joe whatever-his-name-is. I said from the start it was a mistake to take the pair in, and I’ve been proved right, as always. They’ve made us look utterly ridiculous to be taken in by such charlatans. I have absolutely no reason to believe in the authenticity of that child. He is undoubtedly their bastard.’

  ‘For once in your life, Mother, you could be wrong. In which case you will have dispatched the next baronet of Penver, the grandson Sir Ralph would have adored, had he been fortunate enough to live a little longer, to some penurious orphanage.’