Without pretense, Luke said, “In the east wing, Chadwick is pretending to be me!”
“Are you sure?” asked Jarvis, his voice lending to a squeak.
He rounded on the servant. “Yes, I’m sure! They called his name as the Baron of Stockport and last I checked that was me!”
“I see,” said Jarvis, worrying his lip.
Luke shook his finger. “Not only that Jarvis, but there was also a woman.”
“A woman, your lordship?”
“Yes. The guide introduced her as the baroness.”
Jarvis studied the floor.
“You and I know this is impossible because I’m unmarried.”
Jarvis lifted an oriental rug with his toe and allowed it to drop, repeating the action several times.
Luke crossed his arms over his chest and said with authority, “Jarvis, I want to know what is going on and I want to know right now.”
****
Brigitta combed her hair. Curls twisted and caught in the teeth and she pulled until her skull pained.
“What is wrong with me?” she asked her reflection in the looking glass. “Every day I promise I won’t lose my temper and every day I lose my temper. Just once, if I could keep myself under control then maybe, just maybe, I would be allowed out of my room for more than a few seconds.” The comb clattered against the dressing table.
The mirror reflected the yellow gown lying on the bed, ready for Letta to replace it in the wardrobe.
“Doesn’t like yellow, indeed! What happened to ‘you look stunning, yellow is the perfect color’?”
Brigitta paced her suite of rooms, back and forth from the farthest wall of her bedroom to the farthest wall of her living area. The deep, rich velvet color of the coverlet and window dressings grated on her nerves. The royal color should be displayed for happier people, not people such as herself.
Loudly, she berated herself. “Why must I speak? My mouth is my own worst enemy.” She slapped her palm on her dressing table and squealed with pain. Her mousy tow-headed maid, Letta, rushed into the room. Her uniform hung sideways and her mussed hair lay tangled about her shoulders.
“My lady?” she squeaked as she skidded to a halt.
“Letta, what in the world have you been about?”
The maid blushed furiously as she studied the floor. “Forgive me for my tardiness, my lady.”
Brigitta fought a grin as she said, “I didn’t call you.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“But now you’re here, would you mind telling me what happened after the baron ordered me away?”
“Oh, my lady—”
“Letta, tell me.” She drew the rough tone from the depths of her chest and Letta cowered.
With a pout, Letta asked, “Why do you torture yourself, my lady?’
“I’m not a lady!” she yelled. Her chest heaved and she felt her face flush. She grabbed a fan from the dressing table. Blowing out a gust of air, she said, “Letta, forgive me for my rudeness. But the truth is, I must know.”
Letta clasped her work-worn hands and studied them as she spoke. “The baron ascended to his room while the crowd explored the grounds with a guide.”
“No doubt they toured the kitchens, the gardens, and the library, places I’m never allowed to visit!” She threw the fan. The shallow bone frame cracked and crumbled against the base of the wall.
Letta gasped but didn’t move to clean the mess.
It was no use. Brigitta sighed and threw her hands out to her sides. She was destined to live like a prisoner. Accepting Chadwick’s proposal had been a colossal mistake. Would she not be better off in the village? Working in a factory or washing laundry offered a scarcity of food, but at least she would be free in movement.
“Letta, you’re dismissed.”
The maid bowed and scurried from the room as Brigitta plopped into the chair and cradled her face. What did she expect after only a few days of wooing? Apparently, respect from one’s husband was too much.
It seemed her only hope was to pray for a clandestine meeting, and then perhaps she could request at least a modicum of freedom.
Chapter Six
“Do you mean to say that when the tours go through the estate, they are seeing a counterfeit me quarreling with my fabricated wife?”
“Yes, your lordship,” answered Jarvis.
“Whose idea was this? I’ll have their head.”
Jarvis shrank and said, “I believe it was Chadwick and Roland, your lordship.”
Luke punched his fist into his palm. He should have known Chadwick was the instigator. He drew in a calming breath. “I have another question. You said they’re merely performing, creating a ruse. However, I got the distinct impression the woman didn’t know she was acting.”
Again Jarvis scraped his toe against the floor and nudged the now wrinkled rug.
“Jarvis, you will answer me or I will release you from my employ and send you and your family off my land.”
The valet cringed and puckered his lip, and Luke felt immediate regret. Before he could apologize, Jarvis said, “Very well, your lordship, as you wish. Chadwick, of course, knows he is acting. He performs his part then goes about his daily business. But the woman, Brigitta, believes she has truly married the baron.”
“And why does she believe this?” asked Luke, crossing his arms over his chest. He tapped his foot upon the floor, and his heart thumped in a similar rhythm. In all his days, he would never have conceived of Chadwick devising such a stunt of duplicity.
“There was a ceremony, your lordship.”
“A ceremony…” He drew out the last word and dropped his arms to his sides. “Chadwick faked a wedding ceremony? But how is that possible? What about reading the banns o-or acquiring a special license? I’ve not been gone so long.”
“From what I can gather, your lordship, the banns were read, but only in certain places. And the paperwork was falsified by someone in the village.”
“I see. And the vicar? Was he involved in Chadwick’s deceit?”
“I’m uncertain, your lordship. Roland and perhaps one to two others attended the ceremony, which occurred in the parish church.”
Luke rubbed his chin, his mind awhirl with fantasies. “A-and what of the consummation?”
Jarvis shook his head. “Oh, no, your lordship. That was one reason the young lady was chosen. You see, she has a hard time holding her tongue.”
“I don’t understand. What has her temper to do with consummating the marriage?”
“You misunderstand me, your lordship. I do not speak of the consummation for I have no knowledge of that, but rather that her short temper allows the ruse to work so well. Chadwick stirs the young lady and sends her back to her room before she reaches the ground floor.” Jarvis smiled. “It is always the same.”
“Brigitta, you say?” asked Luke.
“Yes, my lord.”
“So this Brigitta is forced to stay in her room, thinking her husband is mad at her.”
“Precisely,” Jarvis answered, seemingly proud of himself.
Luke cradled his aching head. “Is this completely necessary?”
“The forged marriage, your lordship?”
“Yes, the forged marriage, keeping a lady locked in her room, the phony quarreling, all of it.”
“Chadwick seems to think so. He explained that our area is so poor, the rents are not enough to run the estate. The only way to keep the estate going is to charge wealthy tourists to stop and see the show. The current staff agreed to the ruse and Chadwick hired others, because he said it lent to the illusion of a more illustrious family.”
“Chadwick seems to say a lot,” said Luke.
“Oh, he does, begging your pardon, your lordship.”
“And the staff agreed to participate in the ruse?”
Jarvis nodded.
Luke sent Jarvis away as he mulled the situation. Like a book character, he felt as if he’d been tossed about on a ship, swallowed by a sea monster, an
d spit onto dry land. If only he could take Chadwick to task. But how? What would be appropriate for his brother’s dishonesty?
Throwing him off a mountainous peak seemed a tad extreme, however, punching him senseless in a round of boxing held great appeal.
And what of Roland’s punishment? The butler had been in his family’s employ since his father’s remarriage. When his father and stepmother perished in a horrible carriage accident, Roland had protected him and Chadwick from the curious. But lately Roland and Chadwick had become thick as thieves, often leaving him out of important manse conversations.
No doubt the two had concocted the ruse to preserve the manse, just as Jarvis suggested, but this time they had gone too far. Pretending to be him and fabricating a marriage to some unknown girl would not end well.
Luke stared out the window. The village lay just over the nearest hill. Beyond that were towns and cities teeming with people. People who had visited his estate, toured his grounds, and met his wife!
What did this mean for his future? What if he returned to London, met a lovely young maiden, and decided to propose? Either he would be branded as a bigamist and a snake for pursuing another while still married, or he would be branded as a divorcee. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
He ran his hand through his hair. Until he could think of what to do, he would need to hide out. Perhaps he could move to the west wing and just allow Jarvis to attend to him.
Blast it all! He slammed his fist into his open palm and yelled, “Jarvis!”
Wig askew and livery lopsided, the valet rushed back into the room, hit the ruffled rug, and slid, coming to a shuddering halt two feet in front of Luke. He wobbled until stable and said, “You called, your lordship?”
“I did but it seems I might have interrupted a pleasurable experience,” Luke said, unable to hide his grin at the sight of his ruffled servant.
Jarvis’ face colored the shade of a pomegranate and Luke chuckled. “Come. I have many more questions to ask you.”
Jarvis tensed his shoulders as Luke led him to a more comfortable location.
****
Two days later, Brigitta stood by the window. The sun shone bright on this cool spring day. Heat permeated through the glass pane and warmed her already flushed cheeks. In the distance stood spiraling roof peaks. Curls of smoke wafted toward the sky. The town of Stockport would soon enjoy market day and with market day the tours would increase.
She left her window seat and began an exhaustive search of her closet. All yellow gowns were immediately discarded, as well as all red, blue, pink, and green. Eyeing the remaining articles warily, she chose a maroon concoction. Underneath she added a chemisette with white-work embroidery, long sleeves, and a high neckline. Per her request, Letta had added extra lace and starched it, until the stiffness pushed into Brigitta’s chin and lifted it with a regal air. Even if the style was outdated, today Brigitta would leave nothing to chance.
She twirled before the full-length mirror. Every criticism made by her husband had been addressed and corrected. When he saw her this time, he would be so happy he would surely allow her to accompany the tour. Perhaps she would even be allowed to dine with him.
Letta opened the door. “It’s time, my lady.”
Brigitta stopped at the doorway and attempted to shore up her resolve. She only needed to hold her temper for a few moments.
Her heart beat rapidly against her chest as she stopped at the top of the stairs. Heated gazes graced her body even as whispers floated from below.
Mentally she chanted, I will not look. I will not look. I will not speak. I will not speak.
On the landing between the two sets of stairs, she halted and faced the crowd. Happiness filled her and she lifted her lip in a half smile in hope of pleasing the baron.
Several tourists pointed and a stir arose. The people whispered, “It’s the baron!”
“This is such a treat. Until recently few have come this close to him.”
An elderly man with a lopsided wig said, “Just look at his regal bearing. One would never know that he and his brother were sickly as young children. This kept them from attending Oxford or Cambridge.”
His female companion replied, “How dreadful. I dare say this is why people come to visit now, not only for the entertainment but to gawk at the baron, as well.”
“Do you know he never leaves the estate?”
“I heard it was because he fears death.”
“I would fear it, as well, if my mother died in such a violent manner.”
“I heard she fell from the tower window.”
“I heard it happened in the west wing.”
“The wing they have closed off?”
“Exactly. I also heard tell the lady didn’t fall but rather was pushed.”
“Pshaw. She fell, all right. The west wing is rickety and should have been repaired or torn down ages ago.”
“Hush, he is too near.”
Brigitta’s façade wavered. If she were braver, she would chastise the lesser peers in attendance for their words. But although she was quick to temper with her husband, her boldness ended there.
Her pulse raced as the baron approached. He eyed her suspiciously and tapped his finger to his chin. Her hope soared. Perhaps she had achieved perfection and she would be rewarded for her compliance.
“Baroness Stockport, I am speechless,” said Chadwick.
The grin that before only lifted one corner of her mouth now arced across her face with pleasure.
“However…”
With that one word, Brigitta’s hope plummeted. Instead of waiting for the ensuing chastisement, she turned and ascended. Never had she felt so lost.
Chapter Seven
Luke ignored the previous speculation that had swirled around him and watched with the hushed crowd as Brigitta spun on her heel and headed upstairs without utterance. There was no slamming door, no wails of sorrow, no indication at all that the baroness was once again ensconced in her room.
Chadwick drew his brows together and the crowd exploded.
“I paid money to see that!”
“I heard the couple put on a real show. The quarreling was supposed to be first class.”
“So did I. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known it was this unsatisfying.”
Chadwick’s frown deepened and he attempted to regain control, but the crowd failed to cooperate. Frustration mounting, Chadwick summoned Roland and the servants. Livered footmen surrounded the crowd and ushered them through the front door amidst vehement protests.
Outside the estate walls, the footmen returned coins. They offered no excuses for the unusual show but promptly returned inside and shut the gates. The crowd grumbled as it departed. Some took off on foot and headed across the bridge toward the cobbled streets and the village. Others crossed the bridge and procured their waiting carriages.
Luke hung back. Once everyone was out of sight, he removed his hat and knocked on the wooden door to the left of the metal gates.
“Open the door.”
An unknown footman poked his head over the battlements and yelled to him, “Get ye away from here! We’ve given ye your money.”
“I do not want money! I’m the baron and I demand you open the door.”
The footman squinted and laughed uproariously, sending a wad of spittle raining down. He yelled, “The baron, are you? If you’re the baron, then I’m the queen!”
More newly employed footmen joined in hurling insults. Luke calmed his rising temper. He had only himself to blame. If he hadn’t been dumb enough to trust Chadwick to run the estate in his absence, or if he’d presented himself upon his arrival instead of hiding out with only Jarvis aware of his presence, then he would be safe inside the manse where he belonged.
Assured he wouldn’t be allowed through the front gate, Luke crossed the bridge and entered the dense woods. Exiting into a clearing, he jaunted along the path between two pastures. Sheep bleated and farmers raised their hands in greeting.
/> Clouds drifted overhead and the sky darkened. A dollop of rain splattered upon the road. The wind increased and lifted the edges of his coat. The brim of his hat rose and he held it in place. The rain slanted and struck him in the knees as he made his way beneath the shelter of the loblolly pines. As if in response to his rising anger, the storm grew fiercer. Thunder rumbled overhead. The rain fell in solid sheets. Water ran underneath his coat’s collar and soaked his clothing. Lightning struck a tree, the wood splintering. He needed to find shelter.
A narrow creek formed a line between the estate and the town’s property line. If he crossed the creek, he could shelter against the estate’s wall and maybe climb over it.
The hairs on Luke’s arms rose. Hurriedly, he moved. The rain swelled the creek and finding a passable section proved difficult.
Smooth flat stones protruded and Luke chanced a jump to the first one. Slick with rain, the boulder didn’t provide the best perch. Without waiting, Luke continued. By the time he reached the opposite side, the water had swelled and covered his path.
He splashed through the deepening puddles and sheltered against the estate’s wall. In the darkness, the stones appeared foreboding and without an ounce of warmth. He leaned his back against the stones and placed his hands on either side of his body. Sliding to avoid detection, Luke jumped when the boom of thunder startled him. When he touched the wall to regain his balance, he felt an opening amongst the stones. He smiled. The breach in the estate wall that faced the west wing had never been repaired.
****
Chadwick waited at the top of the stairs until all the tourists had gone. Relieved, he leaned his head against the wall and sighed.
“Are you all right, sir?’ asked Roland.
He straightened and glared. “Nay, I’m not all right! Why would I be? Do you know how much coin we had to return?” He stomped through the hallway toward his rooms and Roland followed.
“Whatever could have happened? The ruse was working so well. Brigitta is the perfect specimen: beautiful, regal in actions, and full of passion.” He slammed the door, fell into a chair, stretched his long legs in front of him, and placed his hands over his firm stomach. “When I married her, I thought it was understood that she would continue to argue with me.”
Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse Page 4
