My Lady Deceiver

by Freda Lightfoot

  If he had hoped for any sign of regret or guilt, he was disappointed. Fervently wishing that he had indeed visited Bodmin prison and insisted on Rose telling him the whole sordid story in her own words, Bryce rapidly came to a decision. ‘Until we know for certain that the boy is not who Rose claims him to be, then he belongs here, at Penver Court, whether you like it not, Mother. Have you any idea where Jago may have taken him? If you know anything at all, please speak now, for I will not stand silently by and see that child punished for a deceit practised by another.’

  Holding fast to his temper, Bryce felt as if he might explode as he waited in vain for her reply.

  Lydia simply looked at him, lips curled with contempt. ‘You always were far too soft for your own good, Bryce. It’s a pity you don’t have more of your brother’s backbone.’

  ‘I have never lacked backbone, Mother,’ Bryce told her through gritted teeth. ‘What is missing in me, thank goodness, is my brother’s callous ruthlessness, a trait he no doubt inherited from you. Make no mistake, I shall find little Robbie, and bring him home where he belongs, and no one will stop me.’ Wasting no time, Bryce hastened to his room where he stuffed a few clothes into an overnight bag. He was in the stables saddling up Godolphin when again Tilly came running, as hot and flushed as ever.

  ‘I’ve asked a few questions among the staff and the general opinion is that John said something about being asked to drive Master Jago to Bristol. It does seem the most likely place he’d choose, sir.’

  ‘Since that was where Joe and Rose came from, you mean. You may well be right, Tilly. Well done! I’ll certainly try there first. In which case I shall take the Electric Phaeton. For all it has a tendency to break down from time to time, it will be faster than even Godolphin. And goodness knows when the next train is, even if there were someone to drive me to the station.’

  ‘Everyone wishes you well in your quest, sir, and hopes you bring Master Robbie home safe and sound.’

  ‘I will do my very best, Tilly. None of this is any fault of that child, whoever he may be.’

  ‘Nor is it the fault of your wife. As if she would murder anyone, lovely lady like her. Begging your pardon, sir, but these charges are wicked, and if I were you I’d be questioning where they originated from in the first place.’

  Bryce stared at her for a long moment, then without another word, climbed into the motor and drove away. But Tilly’s words hung in his mind, refusing to budge. He wished, with all his heart and soul, that he could share her faith.

  Bryce was tireless in his search. He not only drove in his motor for hours on end each day, but also walked for miles around the city, visiting missions and churches, speaking to nuns and priests, to vicars and teachers, doctors and midwives, and whatever charity officials he could find who might direct him to any orphanage or children’s home. And in case Jago had changed the boy’s name, whenever he visited one he would refuse to simply inspect the admissions book but insisted on viewing all likely children of Robbie’s age.

  But his search proved fruitless. By the end of the week there were no more places left to try, he’d run out of ideas and contacts, and still hadn’t located the boy. However much Bryce might tell himself that there was no proof that this child was Rosalind’s son, and therefore the baronet, he still felt as if he had failed.

  But who had he failed, exactly? Surely not Rose, since her entire story had been built on lies. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t perpetrated this deceit. If she was not the woman he thought her to be, was she also capable of killing Rosalind in order to steal her inheritance?

  Surely not. How could he even doubt Rose’s innocence? She was his own darling wife and he loved her, had believed that she loved him as deeply. Wrayworth still believed in her. The old solicitor had urged him to investigate further, to find some evidence, some witness perhaps, who could speak in her favour. Yet Bryce had found none. He’d painstakingly gone through her belongings and found nothing to prove her identity, or that of the boy. The woman was a complete mystery to him, and he hated the fact that she’d deliberately deceived him.

  Bryce felt himself torn in two, desperately wanting to trust Rose, yet quite unable to do so. He could hardly stand before the judge and insist his wife could not be guilty of this heinous charge because he still loved her. But was that even true? Did he still love her, or did he hate her?

  As he drove back down to Cornwall, Bryce thought of the state of some of the institutions that he’d viewed, of the stern-faced wardens, the bleakness and cold that had permeated every stark room, the endless regimentation, the lessons and chores and rules. None of it softened by the love of a mother, as Robbie had received in abundance from Rose. Row upon row of children, from babies to adolescents, some looking up at him with bright hope in their small eager faces, still anticipating rescue, while others were blank, as if long resigned to their loveless fate.

  Most of all, Bryce realised, he’d failed the child. Whether or not Robbie was Sir Ralph’s grandson, or Rose guilty or innocent, Robbie did not deserve to be shunted off to one of these dismal establishments where he was no more than a numbered label on his pinafore.

  Yet what more could be done?

  Speak to Rose, urged the voice in his head. Perhaps if he went to see her, this allegedly wicked woman who happened to be his own wife, he could resolve some of this inner turmoil.

  They sat at a table opposite each other, not touching, not speaking, but Rose could see by the cool detachment in those enigmatic dark eyes that she had little hope of winning him over. Her husband’s belief in her guilt was written plain on his face. Whatever she said in her own defence, Rose doubted Bryce would accept it as the truth. She had deceived him for far too long, hurt him too deeply.

  ‘Why have you come?’ she asked. She might have added, why now, after all this time? But pride held her silent. Rose was determined to hang on to her dignity, even as she ached to fling herself into his arms and beg him to love her, to believe in her.

  ‘Perhaps I wanted to ask you why?’ Bryce felt a nudge of cruel satisfaction as he saw the shock of this blunt question register on her face, the way she blinked as if he’d physically struck her. But then why should he be the only one hurting?

  Her voice, when she answered, was astonishingly devoid of emotion. ‘Why I killed Rosalind, do you mean? Is that what you think I did?’

  ‘Did you?’

  The pain caused by this seemingly simple question was so bad that Rose felt as if her heart might break in two. Perhaps it already had and was now bleeding, draining away the last of her strength, the final remnants of hope. She had no fight left in her. ‘Would you believe me, were I to attempt to answer your question by telling you what really happened?’

  He paused very slightly before answering. ‘I’m not sure. You do seem to find difficulty with the truth.’ Bryce was thinking how pale she looked, how thin and ill. He wanted to take her home and make her well again, feed her one of Mrs Pascoe’s best pasties, then make love to her till the roses came back into her cheeks.

  ‘I went along with the plan out of love, not greed.’

  ‘You lied out of pure selfishness, for your own gain, and that of Joe, your alleged lover!’ Bryce almost spat the words at her, hating himself for wanting to pull her on to his lap and kiss her even as fury raged through him like fire. If the prison guard hadn’t been standing directly behind her, he might well have done so.

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘That’s not true. I wanted to tell you, to confess, oh so many times.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you?’

  ‘Because I was afraid for Robbie, and later of losing you.’

  He almost laughed. ‘Why on earth would you be afraid for Robbie? He was never in any danger, except that created by yourself.’

  ‘He was! Jago threatened him out on the headland one day, shortly after I arrived.’

  ‘And you never thought to mention this before? I wonder why? Perhaps because it’s yet another of your lies. Stop
making excuses and blaming other people. First Joe, whether he be friend or lover, now Jago, even my own mother. It really is time you took some responsibility for your own actions, Rose, or whatever your name is. You brought this upon yourself.’

  Rose sat before him in her shapeless prison dress, soiled from the floors she’d been scrubbing all morning, as, white-faced, she fought back tears. If only he would allow her to properly explain then he might understand. But he was too filled with anger and bitterness to listen.

  He leant closer, so that the guards couldn’t hear, so close that Rose could see the way his eyes twitched with anger. ‘My faith in women had been badly damaged by the matrimonial shenanigans of my own mother, by her cupidity and malice. Finding you changed all of that. You healed me, like a fresh sea breeze blowing away all the cobwebs of bitterness. I loved you. It’s as simple as that. Now I see that I was duped yet again. Your greed is even greater than hers.’

  Again the pain kicked in and Rose winced, as if physically wounded by the arrows of his words. ‘And I love you.’ She did indeed love this man, would give her life for him, but he saw her as a merciless killer who cared only for her own needs. If she had lost Bryce, her one true love, then she’d lost everything that was good in her life.

  How many times must she face loss and drag herself back from the brink? First her father to the war, then their home following his death. She’d been rejected and separated from her mother and siblings and lost her dreams of a new life in America with them. But Rose had believed she’d found true happiness at last. Now she’d lost that too.

  But what was the use of complaining? As Bryce said, she’d brought this upon herself. And what did it matter anymore? During the seemingly endless days and weeks of her confinement Rose had learnt acceptance. She’d made a bad mistake, practised a wicked deceit, created a whole web of lies, and now she must pay the price. The charge might be wrong, the punishment more harsh than she rightly deserved, but there was nothing to be done about that.

  Only one person mattered now. At least she’d ensured that he was safe. ‘How is Robbie?’ she asked, her voice softening with a mother’s love.

  Now it was Bryce’s turn to be filled with despair. He dropped his gaze, tearing his eyes from her at last as he worried what her reaction would be when she learnt that Robbie was gone. Jago had already been back at Penver Court almost two weeks by the time Bryce had returned from his search of the Bristol institutions, and they’d had the most almighty row. Unusually, Bryce had lost his temper, and, gripping his brother by the collar, he’d shaken him hard, only just managing to restrain himself sufficiently not to punch the life out of him. ‘Where have you taken him?’

  ‘Where you won’t find him,’ came the caustic response. ‘And where the brat deserves to be.’

  ‘Is this your doing? Are you the one responsible for my wife being held on this ridiculous charge?’

  Jago had smirked. ‘She’s the one who committed a crime, not me. She, Rosie Belsfield, was the one who killed Rosalind in order to inherit a fortune, then lied and cheated and tricked us all. I have no doubt that she should be hanged.’

  ‘Damn you to hell! What proof do you have of her guilt?’

  ‘What proof do you have that she’s innocent?’

  They’d argued, they’d sworn and rampaged and roared, and flung furious insults at each other. And when ultimately it had indeed come to blows, the noise of the fight had brought John and Tilly and other concerned servants running to forcibly pull the pair apart, worried Bryce might actually kill his brother. Nevertheless, Jago had remained obstinately silent about Robbie’s whereabouts.

  ‘And quite right too,’ Lydia said, as always taking her elder son’s side.

  Resolving not to admit defeat, Bryce had turned his attention to searching other towns nearby: Bodmin, Newquay, Liskeard, even as far as Truro in one direction, and Exeter in the other. Bone-weary from travelling, of the constant bumping over unmade roads, mending punctured tyres, and spending a small fortune on petroleum, still he searched. Bryce knew that the longer he left it, the less likelihood there was of ever finding Robbie, as children grew and changed so quickly. But he had failed. Now he must face Rose with this unpalatable truth.

  ‘I’m not sure how he is, or where, for that matter. I’m sorry to have to tell you but Robbie is no longer at Penver Court.’

  Rose stared at him, bemused. ‘What do you mean, no longer at Penver Court?’

  ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Jago sent him away, put him in an institution, an orphanage or some such. I’ve no idea which one.’ Bryce could hardly bear to witness the agony in her lovely face. Yet could he be certain the pain and shock were because she actually loved the child? More likely, if the boy was indeed lost, it would mean that all her efforts in procuring a fortune for him had been for naught.

  Rose was on her feet, staring at him wild-eyed, a roaring in her head as the shock slowly ebbed away and the implications of what he’d just told her began to sink in. ‘What are you saying? You’ve lost Robbie? Then why are you even here? Why aren’t you out looking for him? Have you no heart, no feelings of any kind? Ignore me if you like, treat me with utter contempt if you must. I deserve it for deceiving you, but don’t take it out on Robbie! How can you do such a thing to dear Rosalind’s precious boy!’

  Then, quite beside herself with grief, Rose began to slap him, raining blows upon his head with such fury that two prison guards leapt forward to grab her and half carried her away, still screaming.

  Bryce left the prison in a daze. He was not greatly bruised by her attack, or particularly shocked by her reaction. Of course she loved the child. How could he have doubted it for a second? But the only words now ringing in his head were, ‘How can you do such a thing to dear Rosalind’s precious boy!’ Bryce went twice more to the prison, neither visit proving any easier for either of them. On the third occasion, when he admitted that he still hadn’t found Robbie, Rose told him not to come again.

  ‘If you can’t be bothered to look for him properly, I really don’t want you here.’

  ‘But I have been looking for him, night and day.’

  ‘Not nearly hard enough.’

  ‘Why did you call him dear Rosalind’s precious son?’

  ‘Because that’s what he is. Why won’t you believe me?’

  ‘I no longer know what to believe.’

  ‘Then go away!’ she shouted, and asked the guards to take her back to her cell. Rose couldn’t even bear to look at him, the very sight of his dear face reminding her all too clearly of what she had lost.

  The court was in session. The prosecution and the barrister for the defence appointed for Rose by Mr Wrayworth seemed to be engaged in some legal argument, speaking about her as if she weren’t sitting right before them, calling her ‘the accused’ as if she wasn’t a real person at all. Fear was sharp in her, making her feel sick, yet Rose had a great desire to shout at them both to speak in common English so that she could understand, and for somebody to explain to her what was going on. Instead, she bit her lip and sent up a silent prayer that she would maintain control, even when it came to the part where the judge slipped that square of black cloth on to his head and …

  Rose shuddered, blocking off the thought before it went any further.

  Turning her attention to the rest of the courtroom she noticed a growing audience, no doubt all come to gawp and salivate over seeing someone charged with murder. She looked for Bryce, searching every row, but could see no sign of him. She was aware that he’d called several more times at the prison to see her, but she’d always refused. And then he’d stopped coming and perversely she’d felt mortified, deserted and abandoned, needing him more than ever. Yet surely he would come on this most important day?

  The panelled room was dark and gloomy, smelt of polish and something rancid, rather like vomit. The seat in the dock was hard and already making her back ache after only an hour and a half. But the procee
dings had hardly begun, with only the jury sworn in and one or two points of law dealt with, whatever they might be.

  Right at the last moment, just as the judge addressed the prosecution, telling him to call his first witness, Bryce slipped in to take a seat at the back. He immediately looked across at her and, heart pounding, Rose managed a little smile. He did not respond, merely looked down at his hands for a moment, then at the prosecutor.

  Jago was the first to enter the witness box and Rose started to tremble, as much with fury as fear, as she looked with loathing upon this man who she was convinced had ruined her life. What had he discovered about her? How would he twist it to suit his own desire to deprive Robbie of his true heritage?

  He was asked to give his name and explain his relationship with the defendant, plus a few other fairly innocuous questions. Then the prosecution came to the meat of his evidence.

  ‘When were you first suspicious that this supposed Rosalind Tregowan was not in fact who she claimed to be?’

  ‘Almost from the start,’ Jago said, looking extremely pleased with himself.

  ‘Can you tell us why that was.’

  ‘She was a woman without a history. She told us nothing about her childhood, where she’d lived in Canada, nothing. Simply claimed to have married Robert in New York a few years ago. She wasn’t even specific about the date of their marriage.’

  ‘Did she provide any documentary evidence of this alleged marriage?’

  ‘No, but I later discovered the certificate myself, hidden under a floorboard in her room. I dare say that was an intrusion, but I was so suspicious by this time that I had to find some answers.’

  As the certificate was passed forward as evidence, Rose gasped. So that was how this had all come about. But if he’d found the tin box, he must also have found the letter signed by Rosalind, with the steward acting as witness, granting her custody of the boy. Yet throughout the questioning that followed, no mention was made of this. When the judge declared they break for lunch, Rose asked to speak to her counsel and asked him why.