The Black Widow

by Charlotte Louise Dolan

  By the time the sun was up, Demetrius had made a thorough check of all the clubs to which he belonged, and he had also gone to several of the more notorious gambling hells. Unfortunately, he was not an ardent gambler himself, which meant he was woefully ignorant about the innumerable smaller places where one could go if one wished to lose one’s money rapidly.

  Likewise, if he had only known who his brother’s special friends were, his search would have been easier since he could have asked them for news of Collier. But to his chagrin, Demetrius could not remember any name except Charles Neuce, whose face he was not even sure he would recognize. Although it was painful for him to admit, Demetrius began to suspect that during the last year or so he should have been paying less attention to his horses and more attention to his brother.

  Returning home, he was met at the door by his mother, who had obviously not been to bed either. When she saw he was alone, grief clouded her face. If she had had the hysterics, Demetrius could have dismissed her fears and gone to bed, but her haunted look was not part of her normal dramatic repertoire.

  “Very well, Mother,” he said tiredly, thinking with longing of his bed, “I shall go at once to Bow Street and engage the services of a runner.’’

  * * * *

  Lady Thorverton stared with hatred at the young lady her elder son was dancing with. The Black Widow was smiling and talking as if she had not once again more than likely caused the premature demise of an innocent young man. Dorothea’s feelings for Demetrius were not much pleasanter. How could he act as if he had not a care in the world, when his brother might even at this moment be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, struck down by the fatal curse?

  But perhaps it was not too late to save Collier. Although the Bow Street runner had been duly hired the day before, he had not yet reported back, which to her way of thinking only proved that even a runner was helpless against an evil curse.

  No, the only way to break the power of the curse and save Collier’s life was to end the relationship between Demetrius and that wretched Miss Meribe Prestwich.

  Perhaps if she spoke with the girl directly, Miss Prestwich might be willing to release Demetrius from her clutches. But no, the chit was undoubtedly enraptured with the idea of having ensnared an earl in her coils.

  On the other hand, she might be amenable to a bribe. Given a sufficiently large offer of money, she might—

  But no, Dorothea had heard that Sir John Prestwich had been well to grass. Doubtless neither of the two Prestwich sisters was lacking in sufficient funds.

  All things considered, there was only one thing to be done. Tomorrow—no, tonight—she would send a notice to the Morning Post that they had erred in publishing the betrothal announcement, and she would demand that they print a retraction. Demetrius would, of course, be in a rage since he appeared to be totally blinded by Miss Meribe Prestwich’s charms, but Dorothea had endured his blustering on earlier occasions. And this time, at least, she had right on her side, which would make it ever so much easier to withstand Demetrius’s wrath.

  * * * *

  “Have you ever seen such a game fighter as the Manchester Marvel?” Collier asked his friends. He was still feeling quite intoxicated with the excitement of the boxing match he had just witnessed, and he could not settle down with a glass of brandy like the others. Moving around the private parlor they had rented at the Painted Boar, he jabbed at the air with his fists. “I was quite sure he would go down in the twenty-seventh round, and with the pounding he was taking from the Bedford Bruiser, I’d never’ve believed that the Marvel would be able to stay on his feet for another twelve rounds.”

  “Game he was,” Charles Neuce agreed, his tone lugubrious, “but I could wish he’d exhibited a bit more science. I’d two hundred guineas riding on him to win, and the devil only knows how I shall pry that much out of m’father.”

  “Only lost a hundred myself,” Ernest Saville put in mournfully, “which is not an enormous sum, but I expect my brother won’t see it that way. He’ll ring a peal over me and threaten me with the Fleet, but if I look properly chastised, in the end he’ll pay. He always does. And what about you, Baineton? Is Thorverton going to fly up into the boughs when he discovers your losses, or are you plump enough in the pocket that you don’t need to ask him for any brass?’’

  For a moment Collier was tempted to lie, but then he confessed, “I didn’t lose anything.”

  “You don’t mean to tell me you put your money on the Bedford Bruiser?” Charles Neuce gave him a look of disgust. “If that don’t beat all. Not sure I should have given you a place in my carriage.”

  “Actually, I didn’t even make a wager,” Collier admitted. “Thing is, my brother made it quite clear he disapproves of my gambling with money I don’t have.”

  “So what’s that to the point?” Saville asked. “My brother is not keen on it either, but I don’t let that stop me from having a bit of fun.”

  “The point is, any money I get from Demetrius tends to have too many strings attached. Besides which, I’m still hoping that if I play my cards right, I may be able to persuade him to buy me my colors as soon as I am one-and-twenty.’’

  “Give over,” Neuce said scornfully. “Thorverton will never go against your mother’s wishes, and you told us that she’s dead set against a military career for you. Why, she has the hysterics every time you even mention the army, and I swear I have seen her have palpitations when she just catches sight of you standing next to someone wearing a scarlet jacket.”

  “Be that as it may,” Collier said, “if I can prove to my brother that I am grown-up, I am sure he will be able to arrange something. When he makes up his mind, not even my mother can make him change it.’’

  Neuce and Saville exchanged glances. “Don’t mean to cast a damper on your hopes,” Neuce said, “but you did mention that you sneaked out of the house without telling anyone where you were going. Can’t think that’s any way to bring your brother around. Bound to be annoyed when he discovers you’ve kicked over the traces and gone off to a pugilism match.”

  Collier smiled sheepishly. “The thing is, before I left London I did something I knew would make him mad as hops. I can’t tell you what it was, but I’m hoping if I stay away long enough, he’ll be over the worst of it before he sets eyes on me again.”

  “You’re daft,” Saville said. “Seems to me Thorverton’ll be doubly angry at you—once on account of whatever rig you pulled, then again because you didn’t stand and face the music.”

  With a sinking heart Collier realized his friend was right: nothing so enraged Demetrius as a person refusing to take his punishment like a man. Why had he not remembered that when Hennessey had made his suggestion to play least-in-sight?

  They’d had a trainer once—a man from Dorset who’d had a wonderful way with horses—but on one occasion he had been having a nip in his room when he should have been attending a mare in labor, and when Demetrius had confronted him, the man had whined and dragged out any number of excuses, each one lamer than the one before. Demetrius had had the man packed up and off the estate in less than an hour.

  “Well,” Collier said, throwing himself down into a chair beside his friends, “if Demetrius doesn’t come through for me, I can always take the king’s shilling.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Saville said. “Being an enlisted man ain’t a proper thing for a gentleman. Don’t think it’d suit you at all.”

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t suit me to be kept dancing attendance on my mother. And if she has her way, she’ll keep me on leading strings for the rest of my natural life,” Collier said with a scowl.

  “He’s got a point,” Neuce said. “Count myself lucky my own mother don’t want to stir a foot out of Bath. Visit her twice a year for a week or two and escort her to the Pump Room like a dutiful son, and that’s all she expects of me. Fact is, after a few days she’s usually hinting that I must have pressing business elsewhere. Once told me to m’face that I’m too resty to suit her. Go
t so much energy, it makes her tired just being around me.”

  “Well, I don’t see why Baineton here even puts up with his mother’s whims and crotchets. From the sound of it, he needs to show a little more backbone,’’ Saville said, shaking his head in disgust. “Already under the cat’s paw, and he ain’t even leg-shackled yet.”

  “Well, I’d like to see you do better,” Collier retorted, springing to his feet. “I suppose you’d just laugh it off if your mother looked at you with tears in her eyes and accused you of no longer loving her. Blast it all, she’s my mother—I can’t just tell her to go to the devil!”

  Before Saville could answer, there was a rap at the door, and Collier went to answer it. A heavyset man of middling height wearing a dirty gray-brown overcoat stood there. His nose looked as if at some earlier time he might have gone a round or two in the ring himself. “Mr. Collier Baineton?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m Baineton,” Collier replied impatiently. “What is it you want with me.”

  “My name is Stevens—Josiah Stevens. Your brother hired me to find you,” the stranger replied.

  “Hired you? What nonsense is this?” Collier was too stunned to think properly.

  Coming up behind him, Neuce clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s clear as daylight, Baineton. This gentleman has the shifty-eyed, implacable look of a Bow Street runner.’’

  The man did not deny it, and from his seat by the table Saville spoke up, deliberately making his voice high and prissy. “After all, Mama’s widdle boy mustn’t wun off on his own to pway wif his widdle fwiends. Go along wif this nice man, now; he’s come to take ‘ou home like a good widdle boy.”

  Both of his friends were grinning like fools, and Collier knew it would take only a few hours after they arrived back in town for this story to be spread all over London. Blast it all! How dare Demetrius embarrass him like this! If it was meant to be punishment for the betrothal notice in the Morning Post, it was rather extreme.

  “If you’ll collect your things, sir,” the runner said deferentially, “we’d best be on our way.”

  Turning back to face his friends, Collier said, “If you breathe one word of this affair to anyone I shall ... I shall be forced to call you out.”

  Unfortunately, both his friends were laughing too hard to pay any attention to such a threat.

  * * * *

  Meribe stared at the newspaper, unable to believe the words she was reading. “The Morning Post regrets to inform its readers that one pair of names was erroneously included in the list of betrothals appearing on its pages the day before yesterday. Lord Thorverton has informed us that he is not at this time betrothed.”

  It was what she had wanted: by announcing to the world that there was nothing between the two of them, Lord Thorverton was more than likely saving his own life. Yesterday she had herself urged him repeatedly to cancel their sham betrothal.

  So why did she now feel so miserable? When she should have been rejoicing in her heart that he was safe, why did she feel as if she would never be happy again?

  “Why the stricken look, Niece?” Aunt Phillipa inquired, daintily picking up a triangle of toast and inspecting it carefully. “Is the news in the Morning Post so terrible this morning? Has Wellesley suffered a defeat in Spain?”

  With difficulty Meribe managed to speak. “It appears that I have been jilted.’’

  “Jilted?” Hester asked. The look of relief on her face was quickly masked, but not before Meribe had seen it. “Well, it is doubtless for the best. Although one would not choose to be jilted, it is better than attending the funeral of still another suitor.”

  “Mind your tongue,” Aunt Phillipa snapped out. Then, turning to Meribe, she said in a conciliatory voice, “But Hester is right, my dear. Breaking the betrothal without first informing you shows a decided unsteadiness of character on Lord Thorverton’s part. You are doubtless better off without him, and I can only hope you will do nothing so foolish as to go into a decline.’’

  “No, I shall not do anything so foolish,” Meribe replied, but despite her calm assurances to her aunt, she could not quite rid herself of a foolish feeling of regret that the betrothal—even though it had been a hoax—was now officially ended. Indeed, it had been quite pleasant for the last forty-eight hours to pretend that they were truly betrothed—that they would one day marry.

  For her own reputation, she cared nothing. She could hardly sink lower in the estimation of society, no matter what she did. And she could not fault Lord Thorverton for sending in the retraction. But now that she thought about it, he had behaved in a rather high-handed manner. As her aunt had pointed out, it would not have hurt him to have informed her in advance of his intentions.

  With deliberate effort Meribe fanned the tiny sparks of anger that flickered feebly inside her. It was not so much what Lord Thorverton had done as the way he had done it. After all, the wording of the announcement could have been improved by the simple expediency of saying, “Lord Thorverton and Miss Prestwich have informed us ...” There had been no need to make it quite so obvious that he was jilting her. That could hardly be called the act of a friend.

  But perhaps even their friendship was now over. Perhaps Lord Thorverton had deliberately chosen this method of informing her that he no longer wished to have anything at all to do with her.

  * * * *

  Hester watched the play of emotions across her sister’s face. Keeping her own countenance suitably impassive, she nevertheless rejoiced inside. Although she felt pity for her sister, Hester could not entirely suppress the feeling of relief that she herself felt.

  Now, at least, Lionell—if indeed he was responsible for the deaths generally attributed to the fatal curse—would have no cause to harm Lord Thorverton. And in a fortnight Meribe would turn one-and-twenty, and then Hester would inherit not only the estate she had always been promised but also the income from her father’s vast investments.

  Once the money was hers, she would, of course, give a generous portion of it to Meribe so that they could both be happy. Really, it would work out much better this way. If Meribe inherited everything, doubtless she would wish to give Hester her rightful share, but the only way Meribe could inherit was by marrying, and in such a case her husband would control all her money. And such were the ways of the world that very few men would be willing to give half their wives’ dowries to their sisters-in-law.

  No, all in all, things were working out for the best. There was nothing wrong with Lord Thorverton as a husband for Meribe, and Hester would do everything possible to promote his courtship of her sister. But only after Meribe was one-and-twenty.

  * * * *

  It was becoming quite obvious, Demetrius realized, that he could remonstrate with his mother until he turned blue in the face, and she would still not admit that she had committed a heinous offense against an innocent young lady.

  Therefore, as much as he hated to do it, he could think of no other way to put a stop to her machinations than to threaten her where she was most vulnerable. Waiting only until she paused in the recital of her grievances, he spoke in a calm, firm voice.

  “I warn you, madam, that if you ever again interfere in my affairs, I shall immediately buy Collier his colors.”

  “You would not dare!” his mother said, her voice rising to a shriek.

  “You would be amazed at what I will dare,” he replied. “And do not delude yourself that I am making an idle threat.”

  Clasping her hands to her bosom, she declaimed, “Oh, that you could hate your own brother so much, that you would ruin his life by forcing him into the military!”

  “No coercion would be required; he has already begged me to buy him a lieutenancy in a cavalry regiment. And as for hating him, I have come to realize that if I wish to do what is in his best interests, I would do well to remove him from your influence.”

  For once his mother was rendered speechless, and before she could recover her voice, he bowed politely and left the room.

  Un
fortunately, even though he had achieved a measure of success with his mother, he still had to face Miss Meribe Prestwich and tell her what had happened. “It is all my mother’s fault,” he would explain. But no, he could not put all the blame on her, lest he be guilty of the same kind of childish behavior for which he had earlier scolded his brother.

  Indeed, having once left Devon, he had set in motion a train of events that seemed to have developed a momentum of its own. Would his mother have sent the retraction to the Morning Post if Collier had not first sent the announcement? And would Collier have sent the notice if he himself had not asked for suggestions as to how to trap the murderer? Would Wimbwell have died if he and Meribe had not gone to speak to him?

  Walking briskly to Berkeley Square, Demetrius gradually came to realize that by his efforts to help, he had caused grave injury to the young lady he was attempting to protect. Owing to his relatives, she had become betrothed against her will, and then had been callously jilted.

  If he wished to call himself a gentleman, there was nothing for him to do but ask her—persuade her if necessary—to marry him. It mattered little that she was not the type of woman he would have chosen for a wife if he’d had the freedom of choice. What mattered was that he do whatever was needful to undo the pain he had caused her.

  It was not as if she were an antidote, of course. She was quite pleasing to the eye and she had no serious faults that he could think of. She was not headstrong or flighty, nor did she chatter incessantly. More important, she had kept her sweetness of disposition under conditions that were distressing enough to have caused even a saint to become bitter and resentful.

  To be sure, her knowledge of horses was nonexistent, but at least she liked animals and appeared willing to learn to ride. He might even see about teaching her to drive.

  Yes, now that he thought about it, they should be able to rub along rather well together, and the chances were that even if he waited a lifetime, he would never meet another woman like his neighbor Anne, and since that was the case, Miss Meribe Prestwich would do well enough.