But this was no laughing matter. Whether he was guilty or not, she could not leave Florence alone in the house with a notorious criminal. Moreover, she had not changed her opinion of Winston Perry, Lord Barrimore and she knew if she left Widdicombe House and drove back to London with him, her fate would be sealed. Her engagement would be announced, the marriage date settled, the banns read.
“Not leaving?” Anthony said again. “What nonsense is this?”
“I...I cannot leave,” she insisted. “Not while Auntie Lal still needs me. And if she is refusing...or unable to leave here...then it is my duty to remain.”
Anna hastened to her aunt’s side and settled beside her in a soft swirl of white muslin. Taking up one of the gnarled hands, she gave it an imploring squeeze. “I know you are determined to put forth a brave show for my brother and Lord Barrimore, but I could not live with myself if I left you alone, knowing that you are in such terrible pain.”
“Pain?” Anthony frowned at his aunt. “You are in pain Aunt Florence?”
“I am?” Florence looked from Anna to her brother. “I am. Well, not so much that you would notice.”
“There, you see,” Anna declared. “She would never tell you so, but dear Auntie can barely walk from one chair to the next without assistance. Her legs are so weak why...why she nearly took a dreadful tumble just this morning, and would have fallen head over heels down the stairs had I not been there to catch her.”
“My dear child, you exaggerate.” The canny blue eyes narrowed into their wrinkles. “I will have you know, it has been nearly a whole week since the last time my feet went up in the air. And the pain is not so very dreadful; my ankle can almost bear the weight.”
“The doctor said you were not to overtax yourself.”
“He did? Oh, of course he did. And you have been such a help to me, dear child, hovering about like a lovely little butterfly, at my elbow day and night to attend to the smallest request. But I should not impose further upon your sweet nature. Not if your dear mother wishes you to return home.”
“It was my dear mother who sent me here to help you and I shall remain here to help you for as long as you need me.”
“Anna,” her brother protested. “Mother’s concerns are genuine--”
“Her concerns were equally genuine when she hastened me out of London on a moment’s notice.” Anna said, conscious of Barrimore’s eyes boring into the back of her neck. She had wondered exactly what he had been told with regards to her abrupt departure from the city but because she doubted it was anything near the truth, she gambled it was more than likely her elderly aunt’s health that had been used for an excuse. “Can you not see I am still needed here? How cruel and cold a person do you think me that I would simply walk away and leave our aunt alone and helpless in her pain?”
“I have Willerkins to help me,” Florence said in a brave, quavering voice. “And Ethel, of course, though it is sometimes difficult to tolerate the smell of chicken that always clings to her.”
“You do not have to rely on either Willerkins or Ethel, Auntie. I am here, and here is where I shall remain.”
“I do not want to be a burden on anyone, even for the short time I have left.” Florence took up a crumpled lace handkerchief and touched it to the corner of her eye as she offered up a watery confession in Anthony’s direction. “The doctors, you see, have already said it will be a true miracle if I live to see another Michaelmas Day, not two full months hence. They apply leeches and open my veins every time I have a spell, but...the relief is only temporary.”
“You have spells?” Anthony asked, clearly concerned.
“Spells,” Florence nodded solemnly. “And then there is the chaos in my bowels. It erupts at the most inopportune moments.”
“I see. Well, ah, I suppose I could send Mother a post, explaining the situation.” He glanced around the room, at the aged furniture, the dark walls, the musty shadows and shuddered visibly. “Naturally,” he added with no attempt to conceal his reluctance, “I shall remain as well to offer what assistance and comfort I may.”
Florence dabbed her eyes again and smiled. “You are more than welcome of course. There are at least a dozen empty bedrooms that have not been used in, oh, several years. But I am certain a few hours with soapy water and carpet brooms should make one or two of them presentable. And as long as it does not rain at night, you gentlemen should be quite comfortable. The bats, as your sister has discovered, are not so very great a problem if you remember to keep the curtains drawn and rags stuffed in the window sills. And you, sir--forgive me, but I have quite forgotten your name--?”
“Barrimore,” said the marquis by rote, looking even more appalled than Anthony, if that was possible, at the prospect of rags and bats.
“I knew a Barrimore once. He used to steal the oranges out of the children’s Christmas boxes. He was the butler, I believe, or perhaps the dustman...it was so long ago, the faces all crowd together...but of course he would have been your grandfather’s age, and I dare say your grandfather was not a dustman, was he?”
“No, madam. He was not. Nor would I would dream of imposing upon your hospitality at such a trying time as this. Fairchilde,” he snapped. “A word, if I may?”
Anthony sprang to his feet at once. “Of course. Ladies, you will excuse us a moment?”
He offered a brief bow and retreated with Barrimore to stand before the window.
Anna bowed her head and her lips barely moved. “I am so sorry, Auntie, but I did not know what else to do.”
“There is no need to explain anything to me,” Florence murmured. “Would I be mistaken in presuming to guess Lord Barrimore is the paragon your mother has chosen for your future husband?”
Anna tilted her head up, her huge blue eyes shining with confused emotions. “She insists he is a fine catch.”
“Mm. No doubt he is rich, titled, handsome and she has told you that you should be grateful he has even deigned to consider you a marriageable prospect?”
“A thousand times,” she agreed dully.
“And you have said no a thousand times and so she has sent you here to me as your punishment?” Florence’s hand tightened over hers. “Only say the word and I shall send Willerkins to fetch his fowling piece.”
“I...just need some time to think,” Anna said.
“Then you shall have it. And a wise choice, all things considered,” Florence winked, obviously enjoying the conspiracy, “for in truth, the blind old fool damned near shot his foot off the other day endeavoring to clean a pistol for Broom.”
As anxious as she was about her own situation, Anna had not entirely forgotten their other ‘guest’. “Mr. Althorpe is awake, Auntie. We spoke for a few moments and--” she cast a cautious glance over her shoulder to ensure the men were far enough away not to overheard-- “and he claims he does not remember anything.”
“He does not know how he came to be on our beach?”
“He does not know anything,” she reiterated. “Not where he is, or who he is; nor can he remember anything about his...his activities before he washed up on shore.”
“How extraordinary. I have never heard of such a thing. Well, no, that is not exactly true, for I have heard of it--a sailor once claimed to have lost all memory after suffering a high fever at sea, but I suspect it was more because his wife in Plymouth discovered he had a wife in Portsmouth. You say he remembers nothing?”
“He did not even know his name.”
“How extraordinary,” Florence murmured again, leaning back in the chair just as the men rejoined them.
“Barrimore has suggested a brilliant compromise,” Anthony began, “if it meets with your approval, that is. He says he has often stayed in Torquay while tending to his business affairs and knows of a perfectly respectable villa overlooking the bay. We would be but five miles away, close enough to respond to any emergency should one arise yet far enough not to inconvenience you with our presence. In the meantime, I shall dispatch a post to Mother at once,
explaining the situation, begging her leave to remain in attendance a few days more.”
Florence responded with a dotty smile. “You do not have to rush off right away, do you? You will stay to lunch, will you not? With my teeth falling out at such an alarming rate, I usually have little more than a bowl of mashed turnips and soup, but I have no doubt Mildred could catch a grouse to boil for you.”
“Ah...” Anthony caught a glare from Barrimore’s eye, “no. No, thank you, Auntie. As it happens, we partook of a rather large breakfast this morning. And we really should see to the post for Mother. The sooner sent, the sooner received.”
Florence raised her hand to accept Anthony’s buss. Over his head, she smiled at Lord Barrimore. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord. I trust we will have occasion to meet again.”
He took her hand and bowed over it, but did not trouble himself to feign the smallest smile. “I shall not draw a happy breath until we do, madam.”
“Anna,” Anthony extended his hand in her direction. “Can you be spared long enough to walk us to the door?”
She accepted his assistance and rose to her feet. The two men made a last, formal bow at the door and, with Annaleah walking by her brother’s side, descended the wide staircase to the main floor.
“You do realize this will put Mother in a fine mood,” Anthony groused. “And I shall somehow be made to shoulder the blame.”
“Lucky then, that you have such fine, broad shoulders.”
“And what do you know of this business the colonel was telling us about?”
“I know what you know. They are looking for a villain seven feet tall with a scar over his eye.”
“Treason is no laughing matter, Miss Fairchilde,” Barrimore said stonily. “Neither is the nature of Emory Althorpe’s crimes.”
“I promise you I am not the smallest part amused, my lord,” she countered and turned to look at him. Up close, his eyes were a cold, clear green, their gaze steady and unblinking. She’d had occasion before to wonder if he ever laughed, but now she began to question if he even knew how to smile. She could not for an instant imagine Barrimore’s hand shaking when it touched hers, or his mouth relaxing into a crooked, wistful smile when he told her he would for evermore envision angels as being dark-haired beauties with eyes the color of stormy seas.
She so startled herself by thinking of Emory Althorpe that she had to ask her brother to repeat the question he had just asked.
“I said I am a trifle uneasy leaving you here. Are you certain you will be all right?”
“I have been perfectly fine for the past week, but if you are concerned, you can always stay. Auntie said you were more than welcome.”
“With the mould and the bats? No thank you. I am driven to wonder how you have held up this long.”
“My room is quite pleasant. I have everything I need for my personal comfort.”
“Yes, well.” Anthony sighed and gave his head a little shake. “I fear I would be so intrigued by my surroundings, I would not be able to properly digest my mashed turnips.”
Anna smiled for the first time. “You have not even met Ethel, the chicken-plucker, or Mildred the cook who claims there is a ghost in the kitchen who tastes her food and tells her if it needs salting or sweetening. And there is Broom, who is as large as a mountain and keeps a pet mouse in his pocket. And Throckmorton, the gong man, who--”
“Say no more,” Anthony pleaded, holding up a hand, “lest I am persuaded, out of sheer fascination, to change my mind.”
He glanced over at Willerkins who had glided up on silent feet behind them with hat and gloves in hand.
“I will be fine,” she assured him with a light kiss on the cheek. “We will all be fine. And you know as well as I do, that as much as Father protests, he would be here himself if he could to have a first hand accounting of Napoleon Bonaparte’s arrival in port. Imagine what the ladies will make of you back in London the instant they learn you were standing on the dock when the Bellerophon dropped anchor.”
His expression brightened somewhat, in direct contrast to Barrimore’s, which drew even more bleak as he gave the large gold signet ring he wore a twist around his finger.
“You are not curious to see the famous prisoner?” Anna asked him.
“Considering my time would be better spent back in London helping to bring an end to the debates in Parliament I am not curious in the least.”
“I am sorry to be the cause of any inconvenience,” she murmured, feeling the warmth rise in her cheeks.
“With an eye toward catching the afternoon post,” he said to Anthony, “we should make haste for Torquay. Perhaps it would be possible, Miss Fairchilde, to have a word with you in private at a later time? If not today, perhaps tomorrow? It concerns a personal matter that your father and I have already discussed and I would like to have it settled before I return to London.”
If there was a warmer, more romantic way to suggest he wanted her alone in order that he might propose, she could not think of it. The fact he had already discussed the arrangements with her father sent the fine hairs across the back of her neck rising.
She looked up, aware of Barrimore’s cool stare as he waited for an answer.
“Yes. Yes, of course you may call,” Anthony said. “Let us away now before all the rooms in Torquay are taken by French pilgrims.”
“I will send my card,” Barrimore said, bowing again.
Anna stood under the portico and watched the gleaming black berline roll down the drive. The sound of the wheels on the crushed limestone remained long after the coach itself disappeared around a tree-lined bend in the road, and, having nothing better to look at, Anna gazed out to where the sea was a shining expanse of silvery-blue across the horizon. It was so open, so vast, so endless....why did she feel, suddenly, as though she could not breathe?
“Miss Annaleah?”
She turned and found Willerkins standing beside her.
“Milady said to tell you she would be going upstairs to visit with our other guest.”
“Thank you Willerkins. I will assist her directly.”
“No need to hurry, Miss. She can be as spry as a hare when it suits her.”
CHAPTER 6
His body was drenched in sweat. The scent filled his nostrils with a sour-sweet odor that nearly overpowered the stink of the harbor air. It was dark. Too dark to see more than the glint of the blade as it teased the air in front of him. The steel was long and needle thin, seated in a carved ebony hilt. It reminded him of an icicle and each time it touched his flesh, the first sensation was always cold, followed by an incredible stinging heat. He did not have to see his back to imagine what it looked like. The man wielding the knife was practised and efficient, cutting only deep enough to inflict pain and to make it last a very long time...
Emory Althorpe lunged upright in an effort to break the ropes that were binding his arms and his hand smashed hard against the edge of the bed. His eyes popped open and his legs kicked out, thrashing the blankets into a tangle of wool. He made a sound in his throat, low and guttural, for he had vowed not to scream, no matter how deep the knife carved into his flesh...and it emerged in the form of a curse that clearly shocked the women who stood by the side of the bed.
One was old, swathed neck to toe in black bombazine with skin like wrinkled parchment and a knot of white curls supporting a lace caplet. The other was younger. Much younger. And as he blinked the sweat and panic out of his eyes, he realized she looked familiar, with her dark chestnut hair and deep blue eyes.
It was the angel he had seen before. He remembered she had cool hands and a soothing voice, and she had sat with him and smiled and he had wanted to drown in her eyes.
“Well.” The old lady visibly relaxed the defensive grip she had taken on her cane. “I must remember not to touch you again while you are sleeping. I meant no harm, I assure you. I only wished to see if you had developed a fever.”
Emory’s heartbeat began to slow, his rate of bre
athing began to return to normal, and the images of his nightmare--or whatever the hell it had been--began to fade into the background, taking the rush of incredibly blinding pain with it.
“I...must have been dreaming,” he managed to rasp.
“It must have been quite the dream,” the old woman remarked, looking down at the twist of covers.
He followed her bemused gaze and saw that he had kicked the blankets with enough force to pull them well below his waist.
“Forgive me,” he muttered and reached for the edge of wool, drawing it high up beneath his chin.
“For what?” The old woman chuckled. “You have grown into a fine specimen of a man, Emory Althorpe. The last time I saw you, why you were no wider than a sapling and still ignorant of the use of a razor.”
“You must be--” he glanced briefly at his angel, but she had not yet composed herself enough to look at the bed-- “Florence?”
“You used to call me Auntie Lal, but I suppose ‘Florence’ will have to do for now. Unless, of course, Rory dear, you are feeling better? My niece informed me yesterday that you were having difficulty remembering what happened.”
“Yesterday?” Emory frowned. “Was it not just this morning--”
“It seems she was a trifle enthusiastic administering the laudanum,” Florence said dryly. “We sat about all afternoon waiting for you to waken again, but alas, apart from a few stirrings and mumblings, you remained asleep through the night. A grave disappointment to your brother, I might add, who was exceedingly hopeful last evening of finding you fully awake and recovered.”
“My brother--” Emory glanced briefly at his dark haired angel of mercy, who had not once looked up since averting her eyes from his naked body-- “Stanley?”
“Yes,” Florence beamed. “Do you recollect him now?”
“No. Nothing more than the name.”
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