Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse

by Felicia Rogers

  The maid curtseyed, sent a melancholy look in her direction, and fled the room. Her concern brought fear and Brigitta moved farther up in her bed and settled against the pillows.

  “Brigitta,” said Roland as he took a seat. The concern etched on his face seemed insincere, and she suspected foul play. “Do not fear. I only come to check on you and ensure you are healing.”

  “Healing from what?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Why, your experience, of course.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “My lady, I am truly sorry I wasn’t around to protect you, but surely you can’t hold it against me.”

  Brigitta clamped her mouth tight and moved her hands to her lap. Let Roland tell her what he knew then she might explain her feelings. Or not, since she didn’t really know what they were.

  “The night of the ball, everyone was distracted. Who could have fathomed someone would take you.” The butler tsked and reached for her folded hands, but she kept them clenched in her lap. He sighed. “We must bring your kidnapper to justice to maintain your good name. In order to do that, I need to know who took you.”

  Brigitta massaged her temple and wished she were still asleep. All these baffling questions caused the pain in her head to increase. “I tell you I don’t know what you mean.”

  He sighed and she perceived his impatience rising. “My lady, as the baroness, certain rules of decorum apply. The barony will wish to know that you were, shall we say, not tainted in your absence.”

  Brigitta straightened her posture in anger. “How dare you!”

  “My lady, do calm yourself. I can see this has been a distressing time.” He stood. “I will return later and question you further.”

  Jumping from the bed, Brigitta rose to her full height. “You will do no such thing, for I will have no more to tell then than I do now. I haven’t the slightest idea what you are alluding to.”

  He stepped forward and she stepped back and bumped against the bed frame. “What I am alluding to is that you’ve been missing for days and no one seems to know where you went, how you got there, or who you were with.”

  “I-I—”

  “You left the ball and didn’t return.”

  Brigitta grabbed her head with one hand and the bed post with the other. “I d-don’t remember.”

  “Very well. You may continue to spout that for as long as you wish, but eventually your whereabouts will be discovered. Let’s only hope they aren’t something that will stand in the way of your relationship with the baron.”

  The door clicked shut behind Roland, and Brigitta hugged the bedpost to keep from falling.

  ****

  Luke hid in the shadows outside his suite. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for his valet to pass. Faint sounds of whistling echoed and Luke straightened.

  “Ah, Jarvis, just the man I hoped to see.”

  The valet jumped and twisted. “My lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “My lord!” Jarvis glanced around too causally before scurrying over to the shadows. He whispered, “Where have you been? Why, you’ve missed the most interesting event.”

  “Such as?”

  “Brigitta disappeared!”

  “Indeed?”

  “It was most unusual. During the ball, when several guests went to search the west wing for ghosts,” Jarvis paused at Luke’s upraised brow, “that is a completely different tale. But as I said, Brigitta disappeared. Roland had the staff search for her everywhere. Then this morning, Letta received a note, which she thought from a friend,” Jarvis paused, a heavy blush covering his cheeks, and he continued, “and s-she was told to go to the west wing. When she arrived, she found Brigitta wrapped in a blanket, in the very room where the ghost had been spotted.”

  Luke listened and nodded soberly as Jarvis rattled on. When would the valet get to the point? When he paused for breath, Luke said, “I see. And what does Roland think happened to her?”

  “Roland is confused and waits to question her.”

  “And my brother?”

  “To my knowledge, Chadwick has yet to be consulted.”

  “Why?”

  “He too has been absent the last several days.”

  Luke pondered those words. What are you up to, brother? Jarvis stared expectantly and he added, “And Brigitta, what does she say?”

  “She has yet to awaken, my lord.”

  He frowned. The powder should have worn off by now. What could be taking so long?

  “Don’t let it concern you. Letta will tell me when she wakes.”

  “Close with Letta, are you?”

  The servant’s blush deepened and he fidgeted with his hands.

  “So that’s the way of it.”

  “Oh, your lordship, forgive us. It is just that Letta is, and well I’m… and I just couldn’t help myself. I love her.”

  “I see. And have you told her this?”

  “Not in words, but I believe she knows.” Jarvis studied the ground.

  The teasing was a welcome respite from his worries, but he couldn’t continue. Luke said, “I wish to know as soon as Brigitta reveals what happened to her.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “Also, I wish to know when she awakens. Do you understand?”

  “Of course. You want me to tell you when she wakes and what she says.”

  “Precisely. You are dismissed.” The valet turned to go, but Luke called out. “Jarvis?”

  “My lord?”

  “Feel free to let everyone in the estate know I’m home.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You may go.”

  Jarvis shuffled his feet and didn’t make a move to leave.

  “Is there something else?”

  “My lord, forgive me for being forthright, but there have been some comments circulating the estate regarding Chadwick and the baroness being missing at the same time.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing, my lord. I will be sure to make you aware of any updates regarding Brigitta.”

  Luke nodded and Jarvis bowed and exited the room.

  The door clicked closed and Luke sighed. So the staff had noticed how the absences coincided. That could prove to be a problem.

  But what of the news that Chadwick hadn’t been about the estate in days? Where had his brother gone in his absence? And where was he now? If he returned while Brigitta was in her current state, what would it mean for Luke?

  And without Chadwick to impress, Brigitta would be ready to flee. If she fled, he would never be given the opportunity to help her fall in love with him.

  He fell into a seat and cradled his chin. He would need to find out what Brigitta remembered before he did anything else. If she remembered being with Luke, the baron’s brother, and if word circulated around the estate, then he would admit to his folly and marry her. At first she would be angry about the lies, but she would get over it.

  However, if she remembered nothing, then he would have an opportunity to impress her and win her over in his own time. The possibilities left him feeling intoxicated and he reveled in the moment.

  Later, he shuffled through the mail on his desk. As he picked up a letter from the Archbishop of Canterbury in London, Luke let his smile widen. The proof that Brigitta had never married was grasped tightly in his hand, as well as their special license to wed without reading the banns. Everything was in place.

  Head back, he studied the ceiling and prayed the doctor’s draught had worked.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The pain stopped, but Brigitta’s memory failed to return. No matter how many times Roland questioned her, she couldn’t recall the days before. Day after day the insinuation that she lied about her condition seemed as if it threatened to fall from his lips, which only served to anger her further.

  A knock resounded on the door and she called, “Enter.”

  An elderly man with thinning hair and sagging jowls entered.
She straightened as he approached and placed his bag on the edge of her bed.

  “I’m Doctor Hall. I understand you are suffering a memory loss.”

  She nodded and sucked on her lower lip.

  “I’ve been asked to look in on you.”

  She waited patiently as he held a candle before her face, looked down her throat, and turned her head back and forth, all while saying, “Hmm,” under his breath.

  Next he asked questions concerning her time as a child. Her favorite color, her favorite food, if she’d ever eaten frog legs, and all matter of other nonsensical things. When he finished with his examination, he closed his bag and sat next to her. “I see nothing wrong with you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Those were not the words she wanted to hear. “Then why can’t I remember what happened to me?”

  The doctor shrugged. “You could have hit your head, or accidentally ingested a memory-affecting herb. Whatever the case, as you have retained most of the memories of your life and only lost the most current ones, I believe the loss will be temporary.” He patted her hand and stood. “I will inform the butler of my findings. Now you rest. I will revisit you soon.”

  The door clicked shut behind him and she mulled over his conclusions. She stumbled across the room to her mirror. The faint yellow line of a disappearing bruise covered her forehead. Maybe an old head injury was the cause for her amnesia?

  The pale blue gown she had worn to the ball lay across the back of the dressing table chair. She fingered the material in hopes of recollecting that event, but was rewarded with only fuzzy flashes of people and the vague notion of stringed instruments.

  Letta entered unannounced and hovered, increasing her frustration.

  “Letta, please go away.”

  “But I’ve been ordered—”

  “I don’t care if the King himself has ordered you to watch me, I want you gone.”

  The maid cringed and Brigitta felt a rush of guilt. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel well.”

  “May I bring you something, my lady?”

  “Letta, there is nothing you can do. I just need time alone.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Letta bowed and left.

  Alone at last, Brigitta found herself regretting her decision. Even if Letta had been hovering, at least there had been noise about. The quietness of the room brought back haunting memories of what seemed like being imprisoned and praying for a visitor. Why did this have to be the only memory she’d retained?

  Opening the shutters, she looked into the gardens. Something there touched on the fringes of her memory. She barely remembered shimmying down a wardrobe full of gowns tied into a rope. She covered a snicker at the outlandish idea.

  But the event seemed so real. She could almost feel the rain beating against her side, the waterlogged bed rope in her hands. She sighed. If it were true, then why didn’t she remember how she’d regained access to the estate?

  Perhaps, as Letta had suggested earlier, she was trying too hard. If she could convince Roland to take her for a walk around the grounds, maybe that would clear her head. But did she really want to face him and give him time to question her further?

  She pulled the bell rope and waited. Letta ran into the room, her face bright red and hopeful as she curtseyed. “My lady?”

  “Letta, would you ask Roland if I may be escorted through the gardens?”

  “My lady, I don’t think…”

  Her excuse drifted off and Brigitta said, “Please do as I ask. He is likely to say no, so tell him I believe the jaunt will jog my memory.” She didn’t expect her last words to move Roland, but it was worth a try.

  “Very well, my lady,” said Letta as she left.

  Brigitta waited patiently and when Letta returned, she was surprised to see a manservant with her.

  “My lady, this is Jarvis. He will escort you around the grounds.”

  Jarvis held out his arm. “My lady.”

  Brigitta took it willingly. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

  Awkward stares and whispers followed them downstairs. Brigitta worked hard to ignore them but was reminded of the staff’s wariness as Jarvis tensed more with every step.

  “Jarvis, how long have you worked at the estate?”

  The question drew his attention and he visibly relaxed. “Since I was a wee lad, my lady.”

  “Are you from Scotland?”

  “Aye, I am. And pride myself on it, I do.”

  She nodded, satisfied with his answer.

  He opened the side door to the garden and held it as she swept past. “If you don’t mind me saying, my lady, I detect from your hair and skin that perhaps you have a bit of Irish in you.”

  “Oh, am I to believe my temper didn’t play into your assumption?” she asked with a smile. Jarvis stammered and stuttered and Brigitta patted his arm. “Do not fret, Jarvis. I take no offense in my heritage. You do assume correctly that I have a bit of the Irish in my family.”

  “What brought you so far from home?”

  They descended from the terrace to the side gardens. Brigitta studied the pebbled path as they walked, barely noticing the formal beds and Grecian fountains. A wistful tone filled her voice and her heart. “I was but five when we left Ireland. My father played instruments for a noble and was relieved of his position after a run-in the with the noble’s daughter.”

  “He wouldn’t accept her advances?”

  “Very astute, Jarvis.” The servant preened under her encouragement and Brigitta continued. “We traveled to the coast and there my father was commissioned to create a pianoforte for another noble. So impressed was this man with Father’s work that he granted us a house in Stockport and paid him to make more. The noble sold the instruments, making a tidy profit, and passed the rewards on to my father.”

  “Why did your father not do the selling on his own?”

  “I fear my father wasn’t much of a businessman.”

  They rounded a clump of alders and the sweet scent of roses reached her. Pink blooms covered the bushes to the right of the path and yellow ones to the left.

  “And where is your father today, my lady?”

  She sighed. “My father and my mother are buried in the village cemetery.”

  “Oh, I’m so very sorry.”

  “Don’t be, Jarvis. The passing of my parents was a dreadful time in my life, but I’ve come to realize they are in a much better place. Much better than I.” She whispered the last sentence.

  “Pardon, my lady?”

  “Nothing but ramblings, Jarvis.” They climbed the steps to the central cobblestone courtyard, and she released his arm and stood under her window. Images flashed before her eyes. She remembered swinging against the estate wall, and then falling. The landing wasn’t as hard as she’d expected—

  “My lady, perhaps we should walk on.”

  “What?”

  “You are frowning fiercely and I don’t wish for you to create a wrinkle.”

  She scrunched her nose and he laughed and held out his arm. They continued along the path beside a yew hedge, weathered statues in niches at odd intervals and a bench at the end. Brigitta urged him to take her to the west wing or to the creek, but he vehemently refused. “You are lucky Roland allowed you out at all. Let’s not push our luck, shall we?”

  “So my memories of being locked in my room were correct?” The worry she felt was replaced by relief at knowing her memory seemed to be on the mend.

  “Well—” He tugged his collar away from his neck.

  “You needn’t lie to me. Letta has hovered over me and not allowed me out of my room in days, and now you are sent to escort me with express orders not to leave the path. It seems fairly certain I have been a prisoner here at the estate.

  “I guess what I don’t understand is why. I seem to believe this was a question I had even before my disappearance and subsequent memory loss. Why am I being kept in the estate without means of leaving? Why do I remember some things but not others?”

  “The doctor did s
ay some memories might take longer to retrieve, my lady.”

  “Indeed he did.” She gnawed her lip. They continued along the path, past the bench and toward the lime walk. Hesitantly, she asked, “Why does the baron, my husband, not come and visit me?”

  “The baron is very busy, my lady.”

  Astonishment consumed her. “Busy? Too busy to see his own wife? What kind of man doesn’t take a few moments for the woman he married? I guess if he loved me it would be different. Ours was a marriage merely of convenience, but how I remember that I’m not sure. The entire situation baffles me.”

  “So you don’t remember this either?”

  “Nay, I do not. In truth I don’t even remember what the baron looks like! Letta tells me I’ve seen him every day since our wedding, but I can’t recall the first inkling of our time together. It is very distressing.” Suddenly she stopped and squeezed his arm. “You must promise not to tell him. Why, he would be devastated to believe his bride had completely forgotten him.”

  Jarvis looked at her and earnestly said, “I promise not to tell your husband.”

  She started them walking again. “Good. I’m sure with time my memory will return.”

  ****

  Luke sat in the sitting room in a cushioned chair and waited impatiently for word on Brigitta’s condition. Several times he had snuck through the tunnels and peeked into her room, only to find her concentrating on needlepoint, reading a book, or staring blankly at the fire. His worry had increased with each passing day.

  The door clicked closed and Luke swiveled to find Jarvis. The valet looked flushed and unkempt. If he’d just quit another tryst with Letta, Luke would have him boiled alive.

  “My lord, I have word.”

  Luke jumped to his feet and raced to him. “You do? Pray tell me the news. And be quick about it.”

  Jarvis licked his lips in a nervous gesture and struggled, as if trying to form his thoughts. He blurted, “Brigitta doesn’t remember a thing.”

  Luke stood straighter. “What do you mean?”

  “Her memories of the ball are sketchy, and her memories of the disappearance are completely nonexistent. But most important of all, she doesn’t even remember what the baron looks like.”