My Lady Deceiver

by Freda Lightfoot

  Despair engulfed Bryce yet again. He hadn’t realised how much he’d banked on finding it here, until he felt the bitter taste of disappointment. But he’d been right in his surmise. Jago had indeed destroyed the evidence. And there were only six days left.

  Why had he wasted so much time immediately after her arrest in worrying over his confused feelings, trying to decide whether or not she was guilty? He could instead have been searching for the necessary evidence. Bryce awarded himself no accolades for his indefatigable search for Robbie, but then he hadn’t found the boy, had he? Why hadn’t he believed in her innocence implicitly from the start? What kind of a husband was he to be swayed by Joe’s tale rather than listen to his own wife?

  It was as he was attempting to put the papers back in the correct order that one slipped out. It was a single folded sheet of blue writing paper which he hadn’t noticed before. Now he opened it, his heart quickening as he read the contents.

  He took the letter straight to Wrayworth. ‘It’s from the steward. Jago must have found him, and the man has written back to give his version of events on the night Rosalind died. It states quite plainly that he did indeed witness such a document, written by Rosalind’s own hand, even though “the poor lady was clearly nearing her end”, as she wanted to make provision for her son. There it is in black and white, exactly the evidence we need.’

  The solicitor looked pleased with his find, but less excited than Bryce had hoped. ‘It’s a step nearer, certainly.’

  ‘What do you mean, “a step nearer”?’

  ‘We need the man himself. The prosecution could claim that this letter was a forgery, produced to save your wife at the eleventh hour. We need the steward in person to swear that this is his writing, his own words, that he did indeed sign that paper.’

  ‘And how do we go about finding him?’

  ‘We write to the ship’s company.’

  ‘We don’t have time for letters. We could telephone. We’re living in the twentieth century, after all. Surely the company will possess a telephone?’ Bryce reached for the solicitor’s own phone, but Wrayworth’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘I doubt that is our main problem. This man’s job is to act as steward on the great liners. He could be anywhere in the world. What hope do we have of getting him here in time?’

  Rose sat in her cell with the calmness of a woman who had long since accepted her fate. Where was the point in grieving for a life she might have lived? There was nothing more to be done now. Somewhere in this gloomy building the hangman would be making the necessary preparations. She could only hope that he was good at his job, that he would be efficient, and the end quick and painless.

  Mr Wrayworth and the defence counsel had tried their best. It was no fault of theirs that she’d been found guilty. Nor did she blame those twelve gentlemen and true who had issued the verdict. The fault lay entirely with Jago who had undoubtedly destroyed the agreement they’d all signed. Without that, and with no one else present at the time of Rosalind’s death, there was no way of proving that she hadn’t hastened her end. As if she would do such a thing to such a dear, kind, lovely lady.

  Rose knew that she herself must also bear a fair part of the blame. Had she not agreed to go along with Joe’s plan of checking out the Tregowan family before handing Robbie over, she would not now be in this situation. He’d been working on his own little scheme, and she’d been too stupid to notice. What an idiot she’d been, what a naive fool. As time had gone by, she’d become fearful for Robbie’s safety, then fallen hopelessly in love with Bryce, thereby becoming ever more deeply enmeshed. Yet the punishment for this folly was somewhat excessive.

  Poor Joe had been charged as an accessory to murder and attempted fraud. He’d been sent down for twenty-five years. That too seemed an exceptionally cruel punishment to pay for one foolish lie. Although, as with all lies, it hadn’t stopped at one but unfortunately gathered momentum and grown into a veritable web of lies, with unforeseen consequences.

  What hurt Rose most was the way Bryce had seemingly abandoned her. Following their last meeting when she’d still been in shock over the verdict, he’d sent her a note telling her to keep faith, promising he would do what he could, and that he’d visit. All week she’d waited, but still he hadn’t come.

  Nor was there any further news from Mr Wrayworth. The solicitor had come to see her once, a few days ago, telling her how an appeal had been lodged, albeit with precious little conviction in his voice. She’d hardly listened to his explanation regarding the problems they were having over lack of evidence. He’d even spoken of his hopes for a reprieve, but she’d taken no notice. Rose was no longer a fool. She had no intention of allowing herself any false hopes. Acceptance of her fate was undoubtedly her safest plan. It would be far too painful to face again the bitter gall of disappointment.

  Right now she was struggling to write to her mother. How did one begin to explain the terrible fate that was about to befall her beloved daughter? Rose had left this task until the last possible moment, thinking that the longer Annie could enjoy life without the burden of knowing her fate, the better. When it was done, she folded the letter carefully, kissed it, then slipped it into the envelope and sealed it.

  What dreams they had had when first they’d set sail for America. Micky, Mary, Clara and the twins had been so excited. So had she, certain it was the right thing for the family to have a fresh start in a new country. But all her dreams had come to nothing, and she would never see them again. The pain swelling her heart threatened to burst it wide open, but she didn’t shed a single tear. It was too late for weeping. Now such things as dreams no longer mattered.

  Rose could not eat the last meal they brought her, but she knelt and said her final prayers with the priest, handing him the letter to post. ‘And this one is for my husband,’ she told him. ‘Will you please see that he gets it safely?’

  ‘Of course, my dear.’

  They led her along a passage, dark and dank, and smelling strangely of cats. Then a woman was tying up her hair with a ribbon.

  ‘Why a green one?’ Rose asked, giving the woman a little smile.

  ‘Because it’s a lucky colour. Have they not told you there might still be a reprieve?’

  Rose looked at her but said nothing.

  ‘We don’t need to go into the next room for ten more minutes. Is there anything more you would like me to do for you?’ the woman asked.

  ‘I have the love of my husband, and his faith in my innocence. What more do I need?’

  The minutes clicked by like hours, but then, just as the woman moved to conduct her into the next chamber, there came the sound of loud voices in the corridor outside. ‘Let this man through,’ someone shouted. The door burst open and a police officer appeared. Beside him was Mr Wrayworth, a paper in his hand and a huge grin on his round face. ‘It is here. It’s come through in time. You are to be reprieved, dear Rose, pending an appeal. We have found the steward and there’s no reason to suppose you won’t soon be a free woman.’

  At which point Rose fell to the floor in a dead faint.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘I will not have that woman in this house!’ Lydia was white to the lips. Since hearing the news she had stormed back and forth in the small parlour, spitting and hissing like a wild cat, volubly expressing her anger.

  ‘Rose has been found innocent, Mother,’ Bryce sternly reminded her, watching this performance in disbelief. ‘You know full well that we managed to track the steward down, as by great good fortune his ship happens to be docked in Liverpool. Wrayworth has persuaded the fellow to appear in court to present this new evidence at the appeal. We have every reason to believe that she will then be allowed to walk free. Rose is innocent. Rosalind bled to death, most likely as a result of a botched childbirth. By the sound of it, the doctor should be the one in the dock. When Rose comes home, you will receive her with good grace.’

  ‘I will not!’ Lydia grabbed a small Chinese vase
that happened to be standing on a nearby table and flung it to the floor with a scream of fury. With exemplary patience, Bryce picked up the pieces and tossed them into the waste basket.

  Jago took a step forward. ‘You ask too much, brother. If you must continue with this unfortunate union, then live with the woman somewhere else. I agree with Mama, we will not have her here at Penver Court. She has caused too much trouble.’

  ‘You cannot prevent her from living here.’

  ‘I most certainly can. It is my right, as master!’

  Yet again the two brothers faced each other like combatants in a duel, although fortunately with no weapons beyond their fists. Bryce firmly clenched his, in an effort to retain control of himself. ‘You are not, strictly speaking, master here and never were, as no doubt Wrayworth will inform you. You ran the place by default, that is all. You have no rights. Neither do I. Sir Ralph very generously made provision for us to continue to call this our home, but we have no rights to it. Get that into your head once and for all. The trouble with you, Jago, is that you’re weak and selfish and greedy. Incapable of making a success of your life by your own efforts, you expect everything to be handed to you on a plate.’ Bryce prodded his brother in the chest with one jabbing finger. ‘You were the one to cause Rose all this trouble. I also know that you deliberately destroyed the evidence, and that you hid a letter you received from the steward which proved the original document to be genuine. A letter which could have proved her innocence. Then you disposed of the boy. What of him, eh? Would you deny Rosalind’s son the right to live here too? Too late, I’ve beaten you on that one too. He is home.’

  To his great relief and delight, Bryce had finally found Robbie. He inwardly smiled at the memory of how he’d walked into one orphanage not far from Newton Abbot, rapidly losing hope that he would ever find him. The sister in charge had led him directly to her office, but on the way they’d crossed the hall where Bryce could see scores of children sitting at their desks in regimented rows.

  A voice had suddenly piped up. ‘Uncle Bryce, Uncle Bryce.’ And one small boy had cannoned straight into his arms like a bullet. ‘I knew you’d come. I knew you would.’

  Bryce had lifted Robbie high in his arms to give him a great big hug, and the children had cheered and laughed, delighted that one of their number, at least, had found happiness. Perhaps it gave them hope that the same might happen to them one day.

  Young as he was, Robbie was quite old enough to understand what had happened. He explained to Bryce how Jago had said he would leave him there just for a few days, but had never come back for him. ‘I waited and waited. The sisters keep calling me Robert Blight. I’ve told them I’m a Tregowan, but they won’t listen.’

  ‘You were a brave boy.’ Bryce looked at the sister’s flushed face. ‘Robert Blight? No doubt a reference to the fact he was considered by some to be a blight on the family. Did my brother make a donation to your charity, Sister?’

  The crimson hue deepened. ‘He did, as a matter of fact, but we believed the child to be unwanted, and we were willing to care for him.’

  ‘I dare say you were, at a price.’ No doubt Jago made it worth their while to keep the child tucked away and persist with this new name until such time as he forgot his own, or everyone had stopped looking for him.

  Now Bryce faced that brother with cold hatred in his heart. ‘Thank God he is safe, even now with his adoring Tilly. You are the one who is a blight upon this family, not that child.’

  Lydia, in her distress, had turned to food, as was her way, helping herself to a slice of shortcake and a cup of tea while her two sons argued. Bryce addressed her with barely concealed contempt in his tone. ‘Do you see what you have done to this son of yours, Mama, by teaching him your own grasping and heartless tricks?’

  Lydia calmly sipped her tea, little finger poised. ‘If you lack ambition, Bryce, the fault lies with you, not with your dear brother.’

  Bryce let out an exasperated sigh. Disagreeing with these two always had a bad effect upon his temper. ‘You should take care, Mother, that you too aren’t investigated by the courts.’

  Lydia actually jerked, slopping the tea into her saucer. ‘What on earth do you mean by that?’

  ‘I am referring to the fact that you also nursed a dying man, your much lamented husband. Did you, I wonder, help him on his way just a little?’

  There was an appalled silence, one that seemed to stretch endlessly before Lydia set down the cup and saucer and gathered her wits sufficiently to respond. ‘How dare you speak to me in that manner! I’ll have you know that I devoted years of my life to my beloved husband.’

  Bryce actually laughed out loud at that. ‘You devoted years of your life to nurturing your husband’s fortune, and he was never your beloved. Nor did you shed a single tear at his death. And what of your previous husbands?’

  Two little lines puckered her brow, despite the fact Lydia made a policy of never frowning, as it was bad for her complexion. Yet there was a nervous glitter in her eye. ‘What about them?’

  ‘I was wondering how it is that all of them suffered some sort of tragedy at the end.’

  ‘Such things happen all too frequently in life,’ Lydia snapped, a wildness now creeping into her glare which might almost be described as fear.

  ‘With surprising regularity, it seems, in your case.’ Bryce leant against the mantelpiece, thoughtfully rubbing his chin as he recalled the details. ‘Let’s see, allegedly your first husband took an overdose of laudanum, because he couldn’t bear to live without you. But then he’d turned out not to be rich, so he was no great loss, was he? Then there was my father, the old Scottish laird, who you wore out rather quickly. How did you manage that, I wonder: by overexercise, too much food and whisky? Ah yes, then he rode his horse too hard in the hunt to impress you, took a tumble, and the poor old soul never recovered. The third, admittedly, lived to tell the tale after a bitter divorce. Perhaps you’d met your match and decided to cut your losses. And then we come to the enigma of Sir Ralph. Yet another ancient, invalid husband under your care. It was becoming quite a habit. Who is to know for sure what happened while you were nursing him? The press of a pillow might have seemed preferable to endless months or years of living with a man in a coma.’

  Bryce saw at once that his words had struck home. His mother had sat frozen throughout this lengthy speech, eyes wide, rather like a startled rabbit caught in the glare of a poacher’s lamp, but at mention of the pillow her face contorted with a furious terror.

  ‘This is all lies!’ she screamed. ‘I did no such thing.’

  From the corner of his eye Bryce noticed Jago slip quietly away, clearly distancing himself from this charge. Looking about her in a blind panic, his mother too realised that she had lost her stalwart supporter, and finding herself deserted by this adored favourite son, began to cry, ever her last resort.

  ‘Cut the waterworks, Mama, my fund of sympathy is at a particularly low ebb right now.’

  ‘How can you malign your own mother so?’ she sobbed, dabbing at eyes surprisingly dry, considering the noise she was making.

  ‘I’ll admit this may be rather a harsh judgement on my part, and perhaps I’m reading too much into perfectly innocent and unfortunate incidents. On the other hand it could be terrifyingly accurate. Which is it? Never mind, I would rather not know.’ Bryce came to sit beside her, stroking her hand as it gripped her skirts in distress. ‘If the former is the case and you are innocent, then you should find more sympathy for Rose, not less. If the latter, then you were fortunate no one chose to investigate these personal tragedies. Or else you didn’t have Jago as your enemy. But take care, Mama, Rose is my wife, and I will not see her wronged. Is that clear?’

  ‘You expect me to—’

  ‘I expect you to treat my wife with proper respect, particularly in view of the fact that you have suffered similar misfortunes. It would be most unfortunate were the police to hear there is some doubt over Sir Ralph’s demise and decide to
investigate further, would it not?’

  She stared at him in complete horror. ‘You would never do that to me, your own mother.’

  Her lovely face, with its alabaster skin, round childlike eyes and Cupid’s bow mouth, remained amazingly unmarked by the passage of time, and had been the downfall of many men over the years. Bryce, as her son, damped down the surge of pity which automatically rose in his throat at the sight of his mother’s distress. But together with Jago, she had made Rose’s life a complete misery, and almost robbed her of it in the end. Somehow he had to make it very clear he would stand for no more of these plots against her.

  ‘I have also recently learnt, dearest Mama, that the reason for Sir Ralph’s estrangement with his only son all those years ago was because you had informed your husband that Robert had propositioned you. That was a lie, wasn’t it? He did no such thing. Rather, you planned the whole thing to put the young man in the worst possible light in order to create dissension between father and son.’

  ‘Who told you such a thing?’

  He smiled at her, rather wickedly. ‘Would you believe that I have been gossiping with the servants? They are not so blind, deaf and dumb as you might imagine. I suppose you simply decided that you wanted rid of him, that you needed a clear field for your own purpose in bleeding his poor father dry. Was that not the case, Mama?’

  She fell silent at this, all the bluster draining out of her, the shocked expression on her ashen face speaking volumes.

  Patting her hand one last time, Bryce got to his feet. ‘Good, I’m glad we understand each other at last. I’m sure Mrs Pascoe will be only too happy to arrange some form of celebration for Rose, once the appeal is behind us, and my wife is set free.’

  The first question Rose asked when she saw him, was of Robbie.

  ‘Do not fret he is safe.’