My Lady Deceiver

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Is this letter important?’

  ‘Of course it is important!’ Was nobody listening to her? ‘It proves that Rosalind knew she was dying and asked me to take care of Robbie for her, and deliver the baby safely to his grandfather. She didn’t know Sir Ralph himself was sick and close to death – had never even met her father-in-law – but she was deeply concerned that her precious son be brought up in the bosom of his father’s family. I told Mr Wrayworth about that letter, mentioned it several times.’

  ‘Do you have any other copy of it?’

  ‘No, why would I?’

  ‘I agree it could be valuable evidence, but it is only your word against Jago’s that the document even exists.’ The barrister asked her more questions in the short time they were allowed, and Rose waited with hope in her heart for him to bring the matter up in court. But when Jago was finally asked if he’d found anything else in the tin box other than the marriage certificate, he shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Did you find any letters among Rosalind’s papers?’

  ‘Only a bundle of love letters, which I ignored, having no wish to pry,’ Jago said, somewhat sanctimoniously.

  ‘Is it not true that you found a copy of an agreement between the accused and Rosalind?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That is a lie!’ Rose called out, trembling with rage.

  ‘Miss Belsfield, I must ask you to remain silent. This is a court of law, not the cheap seats at the music hall.’

  The defence barrister shot her a warning look before continuing with his line of questioning. ‘Is it not true that you did in fact find and read this agreement and then destroyed it, as it revealed that Rosalind, aware she was dying, asked the defendant to care for her baby, and would therefore prove my client innocent?’

  ‘No.’

  At this point the judge interrupted to impatiently ask the defence counsel if he possessed any evidence that such a document existed. The barrister was forced to admit that he did not.

  ‘Then let us move on. Next witness, please.’

  Rose sat in stunned disbelief, appalled that this, the most vital piece of evidence in her favour, had not been found nor even proved to exist.

  Various members of the household were called by the prosecution. Lydia, of course, who was more than happy to paint the worst possible picture of Rose. The servants came next including Mrs Pascoe, Tilly and finally Joe. Bryce was not called, probably because as her husband his word would not be considered reliable. The questions continued over the following days. On the third morning Rose felt a spurt of hope as the ship’s doctor appeared for the defence and confirmed that Rosalind had indeed given birth to a fine healthy son. But he spoke with some condescension of Rose’s efforts.

  ‘She was but a ragamuffin from the slums without the first notion of how to care for a lady of class and distinction.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Rose shouted, unable to help herself.

  ‘Quiet!’ roared the judge, glowering at her most sternly.

  ‘Did you expect Rosalind, Lady Tregowan, to make a full recovery, or did you experience some doubts, possibly due to the storm and difficult conditions on board?’ asked the defence.

  ‘There was absolutely no reason for her not to survive the birth.’

  ‘There was,’ Rose shouted again. ‘She was bleeding to death, and you went off to see to the other passengers who were only seasick.’

  ‘Counsel, if you cannot keep your client quiet I must ask for her to be removed from the court. I will not tell you again, Miss Belsfield.’

  Rose hated the judge for calling her that. This must be the second or third time. She glanced across at Bryce sitting ashen-faced and silent on the back row. Why didn’t he say something? But then she saw him write a note and pass it down, and her defence counsel said, ‘My Lord, the accused is in fact a married lady. Her correct title is still Mrs Tregowan.’

  ‘We can at least be sure of that, can we?’ grumbled His Honour.

  ‘We can indeed, My Lord. That is one document we do have.’

  The doctor had been no help, the letter written by Rosalind that she most needed could not be found, and the more Rose listened to the case against her, the more convinced she became that all was lost.

  On the fifth day of the trial, following the judge’s summing-up, the jury retired to consider their verdict. They were out for less than an hour. It was then that Rose came face to face with her fate.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bryce was waiting for Rose as she came from the courtroom, her face ashen and her hesitant steps that of an old woman. A guard tried to usher him away, but he stood his ground. He had no idea what he intended to say to her, what he could do to help, or even what he was feeling right now. Bryce felt numb, yet fiercely determined to do something. ‘I must see my wife. She is in a dreadful state. Let me at least speak to her.’

  They were allowed a few precious moments together before Rose was to be boarded into the Black Maria and transported back to Bodmin prison for the last time. Her next outing would be to visit the hangman, just one short week from now. The judge didn’t intend wasting any time in ridding the world of this wicked woman.

  Hearing that one word – guilty – had left him paralysed with shock. Bryce felt almost as if he were standing outside of himself, watching, observing, not really a part of this terrible catastrophe. How could this be happening, his entire world falling apart around him? He could hardly bear to look into Rose’s lovely face and think what she was about to suffer. Far too dreadful to contemplate!

  They sat holding hands, saying nothing but drawing strength each from the other. He could feel her shaking but she wasn’t crying, or in hysterics, as he’d feared she might be. He was filled with admiration for her courage and strength. Perhaps, like him, she was still in shock and hadn’t quite taken it all in. Unable to resist, Bryce kissed her brow, ignoring a grunted reprimand from the guard. ‘I love you, Rose. I want you to know that I believe in you absolutely. I will never give up on you. I’ll get you released, I swear it.’

  Rose put her fingers to his lips, tears spilling from eyes filled with love. ‘It is enough that you believe in my innocence. I shall die content.’

  ‘I will not allow you to die, my love. I’ll move heaven and earth if need be, but I’ll never give up fighting for you.’

  ‘That’s enough. Time to go now.’ The guard was grasping her arm, pulling her away, clipping handcuffs to her wrists. ‘You can see her at normal visiting times next week, before the sentence is carried out,’ he told Bryce with stark disinterest, then Rose was being marched away, surrounded by guards on every side.

  ‘I’ll never give up,’ he called after her. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’ Bryce roared at his brother. Hot anger soared through his veins as he thought of her bravery, her stoic courage, her innocence. How could he ever have doubted it? ‘My wife is to lose her life because of your spiteful interference. Your vengeful greed will result in her being hanged for a crime she did not commit.’

  Jago made a scoffing sound deep in his throat. ‘This is none of my doing. Blame the jury, or that doctor. Blame Rosie Belsfield herself for the lies she’s told.’

  ‘Don’t call her that. Her name is Rose Tregowan. She is still my wife and I’ll have you treat her with proper respect.’

  Eyes glittering with amused disbelief, Jago gave a bark of laughter. ‘Respect? That’s almost funny. She deserves all that’s coming to her.’

  ‘Indeed she does, the grasping little madam,’ put in Lydia.

  Bryce could hardly speak let alone concentrate, his thoughts and feelings were a confused jumble in his head. He’d never quite believed this would happen, certain everyone would realise what a terrible mistake they were making and she’d be acquitted. He’d already ordered Wrayworth to start work on an appeal, but the solicitor said that unless they could come up with some new evidence, there was little hope of success.

 
But there was still Robbie. Bryce snatched on this thought rather as a drowning man might grasp on a twig.

  ‘This is all because you refused to accept Robbie as the legitimate heir. You’ve given away the child who was indeed Sir Ralph’s grandson, the genuine heir to the title and this estate, as the doctor has surely proved. You must bring him back at once.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘How can you live with yourself if you don’t?’

  ‘Very easily, brother, and in increased comfort.’ As if to emphasise his point, Jago tugged on the bell pull to call for a servant to pour him a shot of whisky from a decanter standing on a table less than a few feet away.

  Bryce gritted his teeth in an effort to control his temper. He’d hoped that concentrating on the child’s predicament might help him to feel he was doing something positive, as well as occupying his mind from more morbid speculation. He felt this desperate need to do something for Robbie, and for Rose. ‘Which godforsaken orphanage did you put him in? Tell me before I—’

  ‘Before you what? Kill me? Is murder to become a family trait, then?’

  ‘Speak to him, Mama, make him see sense.’

  Lydia considered her younger son from the comfort of her sofa where she kept dipping her fingers into a box of chocolate truffles as she listened, unmoved, to this familiar squabble. It had been going on for weeks, as well as throughout the trial, and she was thoroughly bored with it. Taking another chocolate, she held it delicately between finger and thumb while she nibbled. ‘He seems to be making perfect sense from where I am sitting. We really do not want that brat of a child robbing us of what is rightfully ours.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear what that doctor said? He delivered the baby. Nor is there any proof that Rose also had a child, which just happened to be the same age. Robbie is not a brat, I truly believe he is Rosalind and Robert’s son.’ Bryce was simmering with outrage.

  Her response to this argument was a dismissive shrug. ‘Sir Ralph and his son were estranged years ago, now they are both dead, let that be an end to them.’

  A footman appeared. ‘Did you call, sir?’

  Jago smiled at his mother. ‘Time for a small celebration on that verdict, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, what a good idea. Order a bottle of champagne, Jago darling.’ And ignoring the cold rage emanating from her younger son, she spat out her next words with a pitiless venom. ‘That boy should have died at birth.’

  Bryce turned on his heel and stormed from the room, otherwise he might have committed the ultimate sin of slapping his own mother.

  Without thinking where he was going, Bryce found himself in the kitchen. As he burst in, his rage still bubbling, Mrs Pascoe, Tilly, Gladys and the rest of the servants looked up surprised from where they were all sitting around the big pine table. They appeared to be sipping a glass of sherry each, looking very serious.

  Mrs Quintrell, the housekeeper, came quickly to his side. ‘Were you wanting something, sir?’

  Bryce looked like a man who’d been poleaxed, as if he’d aged ten years in as many hours. ‘Yes please, get me one of those, whatever it is you’re having.’

  ‘I think a spot of brandy would be more in order,’ said Rowell, and seconds later Bryce was seated beside Tilly at the kitchen table, and the butler was handing him a tumbler half full of the stuff. Bryce took a large slug and felt the warmth of the liquid ease its way down to his vitals.

  Tilly gently touched his arm. ‘It won’t happen, sir. They won’t really hang her. They can’t. She’s innocent.’

  ‘I think she is too, Tilly. I’ve instructed Wrayworth to lodge an appeal, plead for a reprieve, whatever he can do for her. The trouble is we can’t find that dratted agreement to prove her innocence. I believe my brother destroyed it.’

  Gladys turned to John, Jago’s valet and driver. ‘Didn’t you say there were a stack of papers in Master Jago’s room?’

  ‘Aye, but I wouldn’t know what they were, would I? I don’t go rummaging through the master’s stuff.’

  Bryce was instantly on the alert. ‘Where does he keep them?’

  ‘In a shoebox on top of his wardrobe; not the most original place in the world, but I doubt anyone would dare to pry into Master Jago’s stuff.’

  Bryce was careful to say nothing more, but he’d made a mental note. He took a second swallow, and the servants glumly followed suit, seeking what comfort they could in their sips of sherry. ‘If only my poor darling wife hadn’t kept up the charade for so long, or told so many lies.’

  Mrs Pascoe gave a scornful snort. ‘She ain’t the only one can tell lies. Your dear Mama, begging your pardon, sir, is an expert in that department.’

  ‘What do you mean, Mrs Pascoe?’

  Leaning closer, the old cook dropped her voice in that conspiratorial way she had, and with her tongue sufficiently loosened by the sherry, began her tale. ‘It happened years ago when they had that family bust-up. That was all down to a lie. Your ma told Sir Ralph that his son Robert had made a pass at her, followed her to her bedroom one evening and wanted her to … you know. That’s why father and son fell out, because Sir Ralph, still besotted with his new wife at that time, believed the tale. But t’weren’t true, not a word of it. I know because I were there. I served Master Robert with a late supper and chatted with him, as he liked to do, then he went to his own room. He never went near her.’

  ‘So that was all a scheme to rid herself of Robert?’

  ‘And I’m sorry to say it succeeded. Robert went off to America, met Rosalind and never saw his father again, which is why we’re where we are today.’

  Bryce shook his head in despair, then let out a heavy sigh. ‘The awful thing is that I can believe my mother and brother perfectly capable of such calumny. Not that it helps us much with the problem we have today. If only Rose had confessed to her mistake in going along with Joe’s stupid scheme, it could all have been so different.’

  ‘She could never do that, sir,’ Tilly said. ‘She was afraid you’d send her packing, and Her Ladyship – er … Miss Rose – would never risk leaving little Robbie unprotected.’

  ‘Unprotected?’ Bryce slammed the glass down hard on the table, sending a shower of brandy flying. ‘Not that nonsense again. Protect him from Jago, you mean? I’m aware my brother was devastated at losing what he believed to be rightfully his, but he would never seriously hurt a child.’ Even as Bryce said these words a doubt formed in his mind. Had Jago not already done so by packing Robbie off to some unknown institution?

  Tilly remained firm. ‘Ah, but he did. I know that for a fact as I was there when it happened. Did milady never tell you?’

  ‘She did hint at something of the sort, but I didn’t take her seriously. I wouldn’t listen.’ His eyes were suddenly bleak.

  ‘Oh, it’s true, right enough.’ Tilly bluntly related the incident on the cliff top, making her audience gasp in horror. ‘He dangled that child over a sixty-foot drop, talking about what would happen if his foot slipped, how a baby was no more important than a rabbit or a rat. “Babies are easy to come by and even easier to dispose of.” Those were his exact words, then he tossed him to Rose. Thank God she caught him safely. That was the moment when she made up her mind to put Robbie’s life before her own. We both did. We made a pact,’ Tilly finished, in a rather matter-off-act tone, but then her eyes flooded with tears. ‘Except that I failed him. I let Master Jago walk away with him. What has happened to the little chap? Where is he?’

  Bryce handed her a handkerchief to mop up her tears. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Tilly. You could never have stopped Jago. It’s up to us to find the boy, and to remain strong for Rose’s sake. We must all think hard on how we can help her. There are only days left, so time is desperately short. John, tell me again, where did you drive Jago when he took Robbie away that day?’

  Tilly interrupted. ‘I’ve already asked him that question a hundred times, sir. It didn’t help.’

  ‘It was only to the station,’ John said, looking mo
urnful. ‘Not Bristol at all. I can’t tell you any more than that.’

  Bryce narrowed his eyes as he thought about this for a moment. ‘Was this from Bodmin?’

  ‘St Austell, sir.’

  ‘Which platform? Did you notice what train he took?’

  ‘The one that goes upcountry of course, sir.’

  ‘To Plymouth?’

  ‘Aye, and beyond.’

  Again Tilly cut in. ‘Haven’t you already searched Plymouth?’

  Bryce slumped. ‘Yes, Tilly, I’ve searched everywhere I can think of.’

  ‘So where else might he be?’

  They all sat in abject misery as they tried to think of a likely place. Then John suddenly brightened. ‘Newton Abbot. Jago loves the races, and there was a meeting on that day. Is there an orphanage at Newton Abbot, or nearby?’

  ‘I don’t know, John, but I mean to find out.’

  Bryce fully intended to visit Newton Abbot and make a thorough search of the surrounding area, but there was one other important matter to attend to first. He waited until the next morning when Jago was safely closeted in the estate office. As this was quarter day, hopefully he’d be kept fully occupied collecting rents for some hours.

  Wasting no time, he went to his brother’s room, grabbed a chair to stand on, and easily located the shoebox tucked right at the back on top of the big mahogany wardrobe. Only Jago’s supreme arrogance would convince him that no one would intrude upon his private space or investigate his personal possessions.

  Bryce took the box over to the window to riffle through the contents, which largely seemed to comprise various receipts and an alarming number of unpaid bills. Rosalind’s marriage certificate was not there, of course, having been presented as evidence, but neither was there any sign of the letter of agreement written by the dying Rosalind to hand over the care of her son to Rose.