My Dear Duchess

by M C Beaton

  Benson went off grumbling to change her clothes and collect the key. She returned some time later with an even gloomier look on her face. “I hope you know what you’re doing, ma’am. All Lawton’s lot was hanging around with their eyes popping out of their heads.”

  “All the better,” said Frederica. “Help me on with my pattens.”

  When she was finally well wrapped up, she gave her heavy jewel box to the maid and together they quietly crept from the apartment.

  The snow had stopped falling and a small winter’s moon raced high above.

  The world looked as if it had been washed clean and the very act of taking some sort of action made Frederica’s heart lighter. Benson struggled along behind her, her long skirts hampering her progress through the snow. “Ma’am!” she whispered to Frederica. “There’s always duplicates of these keys and the Groom of the Chambers has them all.”

  “I know,” said Frederica simply. Their heavy skirts and wooden pattens left a long trail stretching behind them to the house. Frederica looked behind her with satisfaction. “There are no clear prints,” she murmured. “If we wait long enough, they will think we have returned to the house.”

  Benson opened her mouth, shut it again and rolled her eyes heavenwards instead. Frederica unlocked the door of the ice house and pushed it open, looking into the dark depths of the interior with a shudder as she remembered her imprisonment. She lit the stub of a candle at the door. “You stay outside and see that no one comes,” she whispered to Benson. She crawled slowly along the tunnel to the edge of the vault and left the heavy jewel box on the ground and retreated quickly so as not to rouse the bats.

  “Go back to the house and enter by the terrace. I have left the window open,” she said. “If anyone asks for me, say that I returned before you and went to bed. They will think that they have missed me. Go on,” she added, giving the wide-eyed maid a little push. “Hurry!”

  Benson scurried off whimpering to herself. But her years in service had taught her not to question the whims and ways of the quality.

  Left alone, Frederica dug herself a small cave in a snow bank near the entrance to the ice house and sat down to wait, too excited to feel the cold.

  After a time, she heard footsteps creaking in the powdery snow, surprisingly close, and Lawton’s voice whispered, “Stop grumbling. I tell you the Duke is so mad at her that he will not believe one word she says. He’ll probably think that she pawned the jewels to get money for her gambling. I had the whole story from the coachman before he left. The Duke, I told you, found her in that gambling hell. Says he wished he’d never married her. Said it as clear as day.”

  “I don’t trust that one,” came Mrs. Lawton’s whisper.

  “Stow it,” said Lawton rudely. “You’ll be able to buy yourself a husband.” Like all housekeepers, Rebecca Lawton had the honorary title of ‘Mrs.’ although she was a spinster of fifty-four.

  Frederica heard him fumbling for the key and suddenly realized that her plan was about to fall apart. Lawton would carry the key into the ice house with him. All she could do was to scream and accuse them of the theft. They had disappeared into the tunnel as she emerged and the first thing she saw was the frosty moonlight shining on the key in the door. Stumbling over the snow, she threw herself on the door, slammed it shut and locked it.

  She was in time to hear a muffled cry of rage and disappointment from Lawton. The Groom of the Chambers had obviously just opened the jewel box.

  With a smile of satisfaction, Frederica sped lightly away, seeming to skim along over the top of the snow. Benson was waiting for her in her bedroom still looking wide-eyed into a drawer in the dresser.

  “I was looking for a fresh nightrobe and… and I found this—” Lying in the drawer were all Frederica’s jewels, the ruby collar, the Westerland diamonds, all blazing and flashing in the candlelight. “What was in the box, ma’am?” asked Benson.

  “Rocks. Ordinary stones,” said Frederica calmly. “I got them from the garden while you were looking for the key.”

  “And Lawton…?”

  “Lawton and his awful sister are locked in the ice house.”

  “What if they die? When do you mean to let them out?”

  “Oh, I won’t let them out… but the other servants will. They won’t have told their cronies what they planned to do but since other servants know about the jewels, it will not be long before they guess where to find Lawton and the housekeeper. That horrible pair of bullies will just have to spend a miserable night. I plan to make their lives every bit as miserable as they plan to make mine. Send the knife boy to me first thing in the morning.

  Benson went off shaking her head but Frederica was too excited over winning her first battle to sleep. She could hardly think of her husband except in that painful corner of her brain where his cold voice repeated over and over again, “I wish I had never married you.”

  As a pale dawn crept across the wintry landscape and a strong easterly wind began to blow the fine snow into spinning columns which weaved among the trees like so many wintry dancing dervishes, Frederica at last fell into a fitful sleep.

  Henry, Duke of Westerland, struggled awake and dressed himself quickly without rousing his valet, Stubbs.

  His anger of the day before had not abated one whit, and as he edged his horse through the heavy snow in the direction of the fields at Chalk Farm he was followed by the ever faithful Chuffy who had been waiting for him as he descended the stairs that morning.

  Chuffy had spent a sleepless night tortured by noble thoughts. He was delighted with his engagement to Priscilla and he felt obscurely that he owed it all to the Duke and Frederica. If it had not been for Frederica, he would not have learned how to be easy in a young lady’s company. If it had not been for the friendship of the Duke, he would never had left the Dandy set and would never have felt bold enough to handle Priscilla the way he did. ‘Course he hadn’t meant to rape her, just teach her a lesson, but, well, things had suddenly got deliciously out of hand on both sides.

  Chuffy longed to be able to fight Jack Ferrand himself. Perhaps he could make the Duke have an accident, but as he looked at the Duke’s tall athletic figure riding in front of him he realized that if he did anything to stop the duel, he never would be forgiven.

  The white fields of Chalk Farm were spread out in sleepy silence under their blanket of snow. The surgeon arrived in a hack, a clock in a neighboring steeple began to strike five, and there was no sign of Jack Ferrand. He did not mean to come, thought Chuffy, and heaved a sigh of relief.

  “He ain’t comin’, Henry,” he said, edging his horse nearer the Duke’s. “I know a cosy little inn where we can have a spanking breakfast.”

  The Duke stayed rigid on his horse without replying, his hard eyes constantly raked over the snowy field. Archie Hefford, Lord Sackett, and Mr. Gordon arrived together but still there was no sign of Jack Ferrand. The steeple clock mournfully struck the quarter past and a faint grey line of light appeared on the horizon.

  “He isn’t coming,” said Archie Hefford at last. “Come along, Henry. We’ll hunt him down in London.”

  “Wait!” said the Duke.

  A solitary horseman was riding towards them.

  Jack Ferrand was desperately looking for the officers of the law. He had given them plenty of time to get there. As he rode across the field, he suddenly realized that Clarissa had done nothing in the hope that he would be killed.

  Coats were removed, swords were presented, the antagonists faced each other, and Chuffy turned his back.

  “Hey! You’re one of the seconds. Turn around,” cried Archie Hefford.

  “I can’t watch,” said Chuffy, the tears forming in his eyes. “Best friend I ever had.”

  “You’re a Corinthian now,” said Archie, moved by the big man’s distress. “You’ve got to see there’s fair play.”

  Chuffy dried his eyes and turned round as the duel began. It became evident from the first that both men were out to kill. Ferrand
was an expert and at times the Duke was hard pressed. But Ferrand’s hate and temper began to get the better of him as his tall opponent skillfully parried every move and he lashed and hacked, his feet sliding on the treacherous ground.

  Suddenly, the Duke missed his own footing and half slipped down into the snow. Jack Ferrand leapt down on him with a tremendous thrust and Chuffy closed his eyes. But Archie Hefford, watching intently, saw the Duke twist away from the glittering point and strike upwards.

  There was a long silence and when Chuffy opened his eyes, Jack Ferrand’s body was lying on the snow, his blood staining the white a deep crimson. The Duke was turning away when he heard a hoarse whisper, “Westerland!” He moved back and looked down at the wounded man who was raising himself up on one elbow. “Clarissa!” whispered Jack Ferrand. “She was in the plot with me… with me all along.” His voice trailed away and he fell back unconscious. The surgeon bustled forward opening his instrument case. After a long inspection, he raised his head. “He’ll live, gentlemen.”

  “Good,” said the Duke. “It is not worth fleeing the country because of vermin like this. Take him away.”

  Lord Sackett minced forward holding a scented lace handkerchief to his nose. “My dear Duke,” he twittered. “I assure you, I was wise to Mr. Ferrand all along. Horrid man. Never cared for him and furthermore…” But that was as far as he got. Chuffy relieved his pent-up feelings by punching Lord Sackett with a flush hit on the nose.

  Chuffy put an arm round the Duke’s shoulders. “Get your coat on, Henry, and we’ll have that breakfast.”

  The Duke shrugged him off. “First of all,” he said, “I have a call to pay on Miss Clarissa Sayers.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clarissa put down her cup of chocolate with exaggerated care as she heard the commotion in the corridor outside. She knew the game was up.

  The door crashed open and the Duke of Westerland and Chuffy strode into the room. Mrs. Sayers followed after them, threatening and screaming.

  “You assault my servants and break into my daughter’s bedroom. I shall call Bow Street.”

  “Call out the army for all I care,” said the Duke indifferently. “You obviously do not care if the whole world hears of your daughter’s perfidy.”

  Clarissa pulled a wrapper round herself and climbed down from her bed and stood before them. “Go away, mama,” she said in a tired voice.

  “Have you gone mad?” screamed Mrs. Sayers.

  “Then stay,” said Clarissa indifferently. “It’s a good story. You should enjoy it.”

  Not looking at the Duke, she began to tell her story in a cold, hard voice. She told baldly of her jealousy of Frederica, how Jack Ferrand had threatened her at gunpoint and then promised to tell the whole of London he had lain with her if she did not do what he asked.

  She neither cried nor fluttered not tried to excuse herself.

  “It did not seem so great a thing, after all,” she said, turning her eyes at last to the Duke. “I was not hurting Frederica’s heart, after all, only her reputation. I am beautiful but I am courted for my money. My money will buy me a title and that is the way the world goes. Is it not so, mama?”

  Mrs. Sayers moaned and closed her eyes.

  “So,” went on Clarissa, “What kind of revenge do you plan? Tell London and it will cause a scandal in the family and all for what? Love? It does not exist.”

  The Duke felt sick. Clarissa, telling the truth for the first time in her life, was more frightening than the charming and lying Clarissa he had known before. Even her beauty seemed only a wax mask.

  He turned to Mrs. Sayers. “We will have no more of this fiction of Frederica being your daughter. She is your stepdaughter. You will neither see nor speak to her again. Either of you. Come Chuffy.”

  The two men strode from the room leaving Clarissa and her mother facing each other. At last Clarissa turned an indifferent shoulder and climbed into bed. Mrs. Sayers opened her mouth to say something but was forestalled by her daughter. “I am what you made me,” said Clarissa in a cold, thin voice. “You will have a lord as a son-in-law. Do not expect anything else. You cannot breed the softer sympathies out of me and then be surprised.”

  “They were not bred out of Frederica,” whispered Mrs. Sayers.

  “A miracle, isn’t it?” laughed Clarissa. “What an absolute miracle.”

  Mrs. Sayers gave her indifferent daughter one terrified look and then left the room.

  But if Mrs. Sayers could have seen her stepdaughter at that moment, she would have judged Frederica to have lost all of the softer sympathies. As the great house was in an uproar over the disappearance of the Lawtons she sat unmoved at her embroidery frame with a still, cold expression which seemed at odds with her youthful appearance.

  Benson ushered the small knife boy into the room and he stood with his head bowed, wondering why such an exalted a personage as the Duchess had summoned him.

  “What is your name, boy?” asked Frederica putting down her needle.

  “Jem,” he whispered. “Jem Cartwright.”

  “Well, Jem, I have asked you here because you seem to be a bright boy. Do you like practical jokes?”

  Jem searched his brain frantically, wondering if he had made any recent misdemeanor, and, realizing his conscience was clear, raised his head and said, “I ain’t done nuffink, Your Grace.”

  “No, I am sure you have not,” said Frederica. “But I asked to see you in the hope that you might have a talent for practical joking.” This was said in a quiet pleasant voice and Jem looked up at her with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

  “You see,” went on Frederica, picking up her needle again. “The Lawtons appear to be lost but I feel sure that they will return shortly. I am sure Mrs. Lawton would appreciate some sort of welcome.”

  “That ‘un don’t deserve no welcome,” said Jem roundly, and then the light began to dawn. “Or does Your Grace mean a kind of joke welcome?”

  “Exactly! What a bright boy you are to be sure,” said Frederica calmly.

  Jem’s eyes began to sparkle. “Well, Mrs. Lawton’s mortal affeard of birds, Your Grace. Anything with feathers scares her. Why, she won’t even go near the kitchens when they’s plucking the birds.”

  “Very well, Jem. I feel sure I can leave it to you to visit Mrs. Lawton’s room and arrange a welcome. You will be suitably rewarded, of course.”

  “Getting even with that old quiz is the only reward I need,” said Jem stoutly. “But if you was to let me take some food home to me Mum, it would be helpful, like.”

  “A whole hamper,” said Frederica, suddenly grinning at him and looking the same age as the mischievous knife boy. “Be off with you.”

  “Oh, ma’am, aren’t you scared?” cried Benson after the boy had left.

  “Not a bit of it,” said Frederica. “If I had not been such a weakling before perhaps I should not be in this fix. I should have fought to keep my marriage.” Her voice broke, “Now my husband is probably passing the time at his club and considers he is well rid of me.”

  Her husband, on the contrary, was at that moment riding hell for leather towards Chartsay, followed by the faithful Chuffy.

  The Duke was glad that they had taken their horses instead of the carriage which would never have managed to get through the deeply-rutted roads.

  As far as the eye could see, the snowy fields flashed and dazzled under the winter sun and they seemed to be the only moving figures on the wintry landscape.

  They galloped round a bend in the road and drew rein beside a light travelling vehicle which was upended in a ditch. “Halloa!” said the Duke. “Some traveller’s come to grief.” He drew closer and his lips tightened in a grim line. “By all that’s holy, that’s one of my travelling carriages. Something must have happened to Entwhistle and Dubble.”

  They rode slowly on, looking for any sign of the steward and secretary. As they rounded another bend in the country road, they espied a small inn which seemed to be huddled down i
n the ditch. The Duke dismounted and strode into the tap, calling loudly for the landlord.

  He was met instead by his secretary, James Entwhistle, who was descending the stairs and whose face lit up with relief when he saw his master.

  “Oh, Your Grace,” he cried. “You must forgive me for not proceeding to Chartsay. We were overturned on the road and Mr. Dubble broke his leg and is now in a high fever. I did not like to leave him.”

  “You did well,” said the Duke, fighting down a sudden qualm of anxiety for his wife. He rapidly mounted the stairs and pushed open the low door of a bedroom under the thatch. The landlord’s wife, who had been sitting beside the bed, rose to her feet at his entrance and made a low curtsy. “The fever is less,” she whispered. “I think he should not be moved.”

  The elderly steward looked very small and frail on the bed. His face was very flushed and he turned his head restlessly from side to side in his sleep.

  “Have you sent for the doctor?” asked the Duke, turning abruptly to Mr. Entwhistle.

  “Yes, Your Grace. The landlord left as soon as the road was relatively clear.”

  “Then you had better wait for him. I must ride on to Chartsay. I am concerned for my wife. I shall send several of the servants back with a heavy carriage and as soon as the fever has abated, have Mr. Dubble conveyed to Chartsay.”

  The Duke’s face was drawn and worried as he remounted his horse and spurred on down the road. He should never have left Frederica alone with servants such as the Lawtons. They were probably bullying the life out of her.…

  * * *

  The Lawtons had been discovered in the ice house as Frederica had predicted. The fact that they intended to keep the jewels to themselves had alienated even their closest cronies and they found scant sympathy for their shivering state. Lawton retired to the kitchen to put his feet in a mustard bath, Mrs. Lawton to her room.

  The shivering housekeeper pushed open her door. When she had thawed out, she would go downstairs directly and put Her Grace, the Duchess of Westerland, to the rightabout. No little upstart jade was going to get the better of her. No…