A Fair Pretender

by Janet Woods

  Her hand began to tremble and she placed her knife carefully on the plate. ‘It was my mother’s brooch. Why do you ask?’

  It seemed as though he was about to say something more, but he changed his mind. Rising, he crossed to the window, where he stared out into the garden. ‘For no reason … did you sleep well?’

  ‘I was a little restless.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, clearly preoccupied.

  ‘Has something upset you, Saville? Was it that note from Captain Younger.’

  He turned, looking puzzled. ‘Captain Younger?’

  ‘The note he left for you at Rushford … ’ Her voice faltered, for she’d made a mistake in pointing out to him something he’d clearly forgotten.

  ‘Oh, that.’ He fished around in his pocket and came out with a piece of screwed up paper. Flattening it, he read the contents. His eyes widened with disbelief. ‘Damn him for a thieving knave!’

  Quaking a little, she said in a tiny voice. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Younger is asking for ten thousand pounds as recompense for his son’s death. He said it was my dog which caused Thomas Younger his injuries.’

  Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh Saville. Will you pay him?’

  His eyes lit on her. ‘It seems, my dear Evelyn Adams, that people take me for a fool. Of course I will not pay him. He was trespassing on my property when he’d been warned not to. He nearly caused the death of a guest of mine, namely you.’ His smile had a bitter edge to it. ‘Unless, of course … but no, you were surely not conspiring with him to defraud me, were you?’

  She shuddered when she thought of the icy water dragging her down. ‘If I wanted to defraud you, would I have drowned myself in the attempt?’ She crossed to place a hand on his arm, the hurt in her voice evident, for such a suggestion had wounded her badly. ‘Saville, do you really think I’d steal from you?’

  He gazed at her for a moment, then smiled, self-deprecating. ‘I accuse you of stealing the most precious thing I own, my heart. I pray you, do not break it. Go and get your cloak, my Eve. We have an appointment with destiny to keep.’

  An odd choice of words, she thought, as she hurried to do his bidding.

  * * * *

  Once they’d negotiated the busiest part of the city the density of buildings and traffic began to thin. Saville took over the reins of the carriage himself. More and more countryside appeared and they passed prosperous looking houses set in spacious gardens.

  John Lamartine lived in Chiswick. His residence was a square and solid red brick house that stood in wooded grounds, with no pretence at being anything but the master’s residence for the school it was first designed to be. The residence and the school-house, which was concealed by trees, occupied a large tract of land sloping down to the river.

  The property belonged to the Lamartine Estate. It had been built by Saville’s grandfather, mainly to provide his younger son with the means of earning a living.

  The schoolhouse itself, legitimately served a purpose as storage, for a merchant who thoroughly disapproved of the inhumanity of the slave trade and spoke openly against it. He gladly arranged accommodation and employment for the slaves who’d escaped from their so-called masters.

  The river gave access to the secluded buildings by boat. It was a pursuit of which John was fully aware and thoroughly approved––whilst his mother, Harriet Lamartine, was kept in total ignorance of it for the sake of peace and quiet.

  Saville had been taught his lessons there by his uncle, along with a sprinkling of other boys whose parents had the means to pay for the excellent education his uncle provided. When the man had died the school had died with him, for John Lamartine, although learned, was a scholar by nature, and had not the inclination to step into his more practical father’s footsteps. Instead, the small church he officiated over made him feel gainfully employed, whilst all his spare time was spent in the library. John was content to exist on the stipend his calling provided, and was a man who has not displayed much ambition, so far.Harriet, having ruled over her only son since birth, had no intention of relaxing her hold on him. She’d always wanted more for John than he could produce.

  The note he’d received that morning came into his mind. Although it had been written in John’s hand, Saville sensed Aunt Harriet’s input. The strident accusation and demand for vengeance were unmistakable. John’s was always the voice of reason, the voice of doubt. He imagined Harriet standing over his poor cousin, dictating to him in her harping voice.

  He brought the carriage slowly to a halt. Eight small windows at the front of the residence gazed sightlessly over a sizeable, but slightly unkempt, country garden. An attempt had been made to soften the ugliness of its facade with a honeysuckle rambling over the porch. He inspected the house, remembering snatches of his youth, anything, to keep himself occupied, to distract him from the problem of Evelyn Adams.

  It didn’t work. He was totally aware of the presence of his exquisite heartbreaker, his fair pretender. His curtness had wounded her this morning. He’d meant it to; the savagery in him had been barely under control after John’s message had arrived. He’d wanted to crush her. The odd, unworthy thought had surfaced that he should have taken what she’d offered him the night before. At least he would have known her and his lust would have been satisfied. Instead, he remained unfulfilled, and his body still hungered at the sight of her.

  The courage to ask her if she was impersonating Evelyn Adams had deserted him at breakfast. Something had held him back. He hadn’t wanted to know the answer. In fact, he still didn’t. He’d suspected for some time that she wasn’t who she seemed. She was the antithesis of the dull spinster of his expectations. Her vibrancy, her wit and her vulnerability had totally fooled him, her beauty had dazzled him … her love had captured him.

  So who was she? Indeed, was she an impostor, at all? John’s letter had been agitated, but expressive in its uncertainty. How undecided he was, Saville thought. He was a pitiful fool clutching at straws, trying to convince himself of the best outcome, when logic had already provided the truth.

  His Eve knew something momentous was about to happen. There was an air about her, a slight droop to her shoulders; a half-hopeless, half-hopeful look in her eyes. She reminded him of a dog with its tail tucked under its body, dreading an expected beating, but hoping it wouldn’t happen.

  He felt sickened by his own cruelty. It didn’t have to be this way. He could turn the carriage around and take her back to Rushford. He could keep her there and leave himself in blessed ignorance. But a union based on lies was a union without trust, and without trust, love would wither and eventually die.

  So he drew the carriage to a halt, jumped down from the driver’s seat and opening the door, held out his hand to her. ‘We’ve arrived.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. Her eyes met his, unsure. Her lips trembled as if she was about to say more, but she didn’t. She just gazed at him, her eyes the color of autumn reflected in water. She would like autumn at Rushford, he thought inconsequently.

  Feeling like her executioner Saville avoided that gaze, avoided the hurt and the slight accusation in them. It was as if he’d betrayed her, not the other way around. The thought refreshed his anger.

  But her guilt is not proven yet.

  He closed his eyes and prayed for her innocence, savored the kiss she brushed against his lips. It felt like good-bye to him.

  * * * *

  There was a dragging reluctance in Graine as she followed Saville to the door. She kept telling herself that the feeling of presentiment in her was nothing to do with his attitude, but rather by the task he faced in explaining the situation to the man she was betrothed to.

  The door was opened by a maid in an apron, who bobbed a curtsey. The quick glance Graine was subjected to was followed by a thinning of her lips as they entered.

  ‘I’ll fetch the Reverend Lamartine,’ she said and waddled off to the back of the house.

  Bewigged, a small pair of glasses perched on t
he end of his nose, John Lamartine appeared agitated as he advanced toward them. His voice was soft, but had a pleasing timbre to it. ‘Ah, Saville, it’s good of you to come so promptly.’

  ‘I’d like to introduce Miss Evelyn Adams,’ Saville said.

  John stared at her for a moment or two. His eyes were a paler blue than Saville’s, introspective, but with a depth of intelligence. There was a vaguely academic air about him. He gave a small, embarrassed, cough, saying very gently. ‘Yes … yes … quite. Welcome to my home, Miss, um …’ He turned to Saville. ‘Oh dear, I think it would be wise not to prolong the issue at hand, though I like it not at all. Mama is quite distressed, as you can imagine, so we had best not keep her waiting.’

  ‘Of course,’ Saville murmured, and motioned her forward up the staircase.

  With each step Graine took, the feeling of imminent disaster increased. Then they were standing outside a room to the left of the upstairs landing. John Lamartine took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow before grasping the doorknob. He gazed at Saville, who reluctantly nodded.

  Their eyes met and she saw shame in the damning blue depths of his. He knew! She lowered her eyes and felt her heart break as he door swung open with a muted squeak of the hinges.

  Graine’s breath became an anguished gasp. Nothing could have prepared her for the scene that met her eyes. On the far side of the room her half-sister, Evelyn, was seated in a chair by the window, working at an embroidery frame. Graine gave a small cry of thankfulness. Somehow, Evelyn had escaped from the clutches of the deep!

  ‘Allow me to introduce you,’ Saville whispered savagely against her ear. ‘This lady has presented herself to my cousin as Miss Evelyn Adams from Antigua. Is she uttering falsehood?’

  ‘No, she isn’t.’ The muscles in her throat constricted as she tried to murmur Evelyn’s name. Evelyn glanced up, a smile forming on her lips. It froze there as they stared in complete shock at one another. Tremors ran through Graine’s body.

  A woman rose from the armchair. She was short, her portliness emphasized by fussy frills adorning a gown of eye-catching purple. Her face wore a disagreeable expression. Her mouth was as pursed as a badly darned hole in hosiery, and her eyes as sharp as needlepoints.

  ‘See how the girl shakes,’ she screamed out in triumph. ‘She has guilt written all over her and should be hung from the highest gallows. You have been duped, Saville. We all have.’

  Graine only half heard the woman’s words, for Evelyn’s smile had lit her features. ‘Graine … my dearest. I’d quite despaired of ever seeing you again. I’ve missed you so.’

  Graine took a step towards her. ‘And not a day has passed when I haven’t grieved your loss and prayed for your soul.’

  Tears began to trickle down Evelyn’s cheeks and she held out her arms. ‘Come here and hug me, for I cannot believe you are less than an apparition until I can touch you to make sure.’

  Graine needed no urging. Heart beating erratically, she flew across the room into Evelyn’s embrace, weeping tears of joy. ‘Thank God, thank God!’

  ‘Thank you, John,’ Evelyn murmured over her shoulder. ‘This is a most wonderful, wonderful surprise. I’m indebted to you.’

  John blinked, moistened his lips with his tongue and gazed guiltily at Saville.

  ‘Wonderful?’ Harriet shrieked. ‘The girl is a trickster. She has falsely represented herself as you in an attempt to marry my son. She has tried to cheat us all out of the fortune that would rightfully belong to us when you marry, and has accepted bed and board from the earl under false pretences. She must be given a good beating and sent to goal.’ To emphasize her point, the virago flew across the room and slapped Graine viciously about the head.

  Crying out with the vicious suddenness of it, she turned her face into Evelyn’s comforting shoulder.

  ‘Mama!’ John said, sounding shocked as he pulled her away. ‘There is no need for violence.’

  ‘Is there not? This girl is Evelyn’s servant. She needs a good beating and I’m the very one to give it to her. Afterwards, she can be locked in the cellar with the rats overnight, then in the morning she must be taken to the watch-house and charged.’

  ‘We will do no such thing, Harriet,’ Evelyn said firmly, and it was the first time Graine had ever heard her raise her voice.

  ‘Pray, who are you, miss, to tell me what to do in my own home? Nothing but a spinster lady, who, I might add, has my son to thank for the fortuitous change due in her status. Well, you are not wed to him yet. As a guest in my home, you should mind your manners and your business. Take the girl to the cellar, John. I will lay your father’s cane across her back myself. That will teach her to try and steal a fortune.’

  ‘Graine is welcome to the fortune. She is my sister, and therefore my heir.’

  Graine gazed at her wonderingly. ‘All this time, you knew of our relationship?’

  ‘Of course I knew. That’s why I insisted Theodore Chambers hire you as my companion. I wanted you under my protection. He agreed, as long as I swore never to tell you.’ She managed an ironic little smile. ‘He had no right to insist you be kept in ignorance, but I was too weak to defy him whilst he lived. I had determined to inform you of our relationship when we reached England. How silly, when it’s obvious you knew all the time. We must never keep secrets from each other again.’

  Saville gave a bitter laugh. The humiliation in his eyes was being overtaken by a growing anger, and it damned her to hell. His mouth twisted in scorn when her eyes pleaded with his for understanding. His eyes became ice.

  ‘Saville, my dear,’ Harriet said, and the look she aimed at Evelyn was designed to crush. ‘You are most grievously wronged in this matter. Out of the kindness of your heart, this devious creature has been allowed to shelter under your roof, and has supped at your table. Who knows what treasures she may have stolen? You must search her bags, and she must be made to pay for her crimes against you.’

  Saville contemplated her for a moment or two, his eyes half-hooded. ‘Have you stolen such treasures from me, my Eve?’

  She knew that which he referred to. Tears squeezed from beneath her lids. She’d stolen only the one thing she’d ever wanted from life and that was the most precious thing he had to offer her. His love. As if it had been worth nothing, she’d accepted it, then crushed it and tossed it aside.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, the agony she experienced excruciating. ‘I’m sorry … so sorry, Saville. I should have told you. I thought you’d turn me from your door. I knew nobody in this country and had no means, and nowhere else to go.’

  ‘See!’ Harriet shrieked. ‘With her own lips she’s admitted her guilt. I demand that you have her charged and thrown into a cell.’

  Saville’s voice was a whiplash. ‘Please be quiet, Aunt Harriet. You’re in no position to demand anything of me.’ He crossed to where they stood and smiled at Evelyn. ‘I’m pleased you survived the storm, Miss Adams, for your sister appears to have sincerely grieved for you. There is another storm ahead of you. Stay strong, but beware. Graine will need somebody to lean on, and she has a sly way of creeping into your heart.’

  Graine hung her head at his condemnation.

  Evelyn placed her hand on his arm. ‘Perhaps you would wait for a few moments, My Lord, for I have something I wish to say.’

  He nodded, and withdrew to a spot near the door. Not one glance did he afford her, as if she no longer existed for him.

  ‘Saville,’ Graine whispered in quiet supplication, but the plea didn’t reach his ears.

  Harriet, puffed up and purple, advanced on her son. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, John. Insist that the girl be thrown out.’

  John’s face flushed. ‘I don’t think there’s much I can do, Mama. She has committed no crime against us and Evelyn seems to want her to stay.’

  ‘The girl is an undesirable creature to have in our home.’ Her glance impaled Evelyn. ‘My dear, you are being disagreeably obdurate over the matter. As you know, our
connections are impeccable. We are God-fearing people. What will people say if we give the girl house room. She is illegitimate, her mother was a loose woman, so who knows who fathered her.’

  Evelyn didn’t argue with the notion, just gazed at John. ‘What are your thoughts on this matter, John.’

  John appeared uncomfortable at being pinned down. ‘Mother is right, of course. We cannot be sure of her parentage. However, one must be charitable. Perhaps I could find her employment. Yes, I do believe one of my parishioners needs a maid of all work.’ He beamed a smile at her. ‘I’ll look into it. You must excuse me now. I have work to do on my sermon.’

  ‘Your sermon can wait,’ Evelyn said in a voice Graine had never heard her use before. ‘I have not finished. Please take a seat.’

  Harriet gave an outraged gasp when John immediately did as he was told. ‘How dare you tell my son––’

  Evelyn turned on her. ‘Sit down , Harriet, and kindly do not interrupt again. First, allow me to say that I know Graine is my sister. There’s no doubt in my mind.’

  Harriet opened her mouth then shut it again.

  ‘John. I’ve been a guest in your house for several weeks, and have grown to respect you, for there’s more depth to you than you care to show. However, what has taken place here today does you no justice. You knew how much I grieved for my sister. Instead of telling me earlier that God had spared her life, you gave the information of her survival to your mother. What I told you of Graine’s background was a confidence between us. Somehow, your mother has learned of this, and has humiliated my sister in a public way, for something not her fault.’

  John sent his mother a level look. ‘I can only imagine she was listening to our conversation at the door, for I didn’t break your confidence.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you’ve allowed us both to be subjected to this shameful charade. In doing so, you’ve admitted that a seed of doubt existed in your mind as to my own truthfulness.’

  John bowed his head and looked ashamed.

  ‘As for you Mrs Lamartine, you are too opinionated and vulgar. You brow-beat your son, and because he is gentle and retiring by nature, you will not allow him to become his own man.’