by Liese Anning
'What did he promise you in return?' James asked.
'He promised that the deed of Hadlands would be returned to my brother, along with enough money to restore the estate. He also promised he would leave my sister alone.'
'And you believe him?' James asked.
'He gave me his word as a gentleman.' She turned around and looked at him and said, 'what choice do I have, but to trust him?'
He took her hands in his. They were beginning to become a little warmer, and he noticed that the blanket that once had been tightly wrapped around her shoulders had fallen. 'I can help.'
'How?' she questioned. 'The papers I signed are locked up in his study.'
'Stealing them would not solve your problem. Even if the contract were destroyed, along with your father's vowels, that would not stop a man like Melrose. He would just make you sign another.' He stood up and walked towards the fire and prodded it once more with the poker. Sparks flew as the wood crackled and the fire that had been dying sprang back into life. He stood up and rubbed his hands together to rid them of the black flecks of soot that he had acquired by handling the poker. 'No, I must think of something else.'
James carefully placed another log onto the fire and went back to sit next to Verity. He took the bottle of brandy from the floor, removed the stopper and offered it to her once more. She daintily took a sip and gave the bottle back to him. He then drank some, before returning it to its place on the floor.
They sat in silence once more, listening to the crack and hiss of the log as it burst into flames. 'Why are you helping me?' Verity said, breaking the long silence. 'I do not understand.'
James stared at the dancing orange flames produced by the fire. 'There is something I do not like about Melrose or Ellington for that matter,' he eventually said softly, 'they are not honourable men. They take advantage of people, by manipulating them to suit their means.' He turned around to face her once more, 'I believe that this is what they have done to you. They have used your worse fear, the reputation of your brother and sister, and have made you sacrifice your own in return. Melrose has no right to make you responsible for your father's debts. Upon his death, those vowels became worthless. As for the deed, the honourable course of action would be to return it to your brother's trustees.'
Verity met his eyes. 'But you have still not answered my question. Why help me? You are under no obligation to do so.'
James then began to look into her amber eyes. Then he gently rubbed her cheek with the pad of his thumb and sighed. 'I know, from the company I have been keeping this past week, that it is hard to believe, but I was once happily married.' He took a deep breath and continued. 'I met my wife in Spain.'
'What was her name?' Verity said, after a lengthy silence.
'Isabella,' he said softly, 'her name was Isabella.'
'When I first met her, she was already a widow. Her previous husband, a Spanish nobleman, had betrayed his countrymen. And Isabella felt she had to atone for his treachery. She supported the partisans and sometimes even fought with them. When the French captured me, she was the one that rescued me. If it were not for her bravery, I would not be alive today. It did not take long for us to become lovers, but, all the time, I kept asking her to marry me, but she just kept on refusing my numerous proposals.' James said with a deep sadness in his voice. 'It was not until she found out she was carrying my child, that I insisted we marry. We were happy, during those months together, really happy. Then came the siege of Badajoz.'
'The allies had just taken the Ciudad Rodrigo, and, full of hope, we all marched to Badajoz. Everyone thought it would be easy to take the fortress, but once we arrived, we found it impregnable. Isabella was nearing her time to give birth, and she was not well. The camp was no place for her; it was noisy and full of the stench of death. She begged to stay with me, but I insisted she must go and stay with an aunt, who lived in the fortress. I managed to get her smuggled in, and foolishly thought that she would be safer with her family, rather than with me in that squalid, pitiful camp.'
'Eventually, after several weeks of intense fighting, we managed to break through their defences, and the four thousand strong French garrison retreated. The battle had been bloody, and we had almost lost. Once in the fortress, after marching over the bodies of their fallen comrades, our men began to exact their revenge. They were like animals, half-crazed with the smell of death and destruction. They looted, murdered and raped. No one, from the oldest man to the youngest girl, was safe. They destroyed everything in their path; like a plague of locusts.'
'When I entered Badajoz and realised the extent of their savagery, I knew I had to find Isabella. I had her address, but because of the chaos, it took me hours to find her aunt's house.'
James closed his eyes. The memories were still fresh in his mind, and not a day went past when he did not vividly remember the destruction he witnessed. 'Eventually, I found them, but I was too late: Isabella was dead.'
Verity put her hand on his, and she saw he had tears in his eyes. 'Her family had tried to hide her when the men were knocking down the door. But, when the soldiers, our soldiers, found her, they dragged her from her hiding place and...' He stopped, unable to finish his sentence. He took a deep breath and then continued. 'Once they had finished ravishing her, they slit her throat, killing both Isabella and my son.'
'I eventually found the men responsible for their deaths, and I wanted to kill them. I wanted them to suffer like my dear Isabella had suffered. But, as I looked at them, all I saw were rather pathetic young men, who, after their first battle, had been brought to the edge of madness. They had seen the needless death of their closest comrades and friends. Once they had entered the fortress, after witnessing for the first time the horrors of war, something inside them snapped. Those young men, still just boys, not one of them over the age of eighteen, had committed these horrendous crimes, that only days before would have been abhorrent to them.'
'Isabella's death will be forever on my conscience. I will always blame myself, as much as I blame the men that killed her.' He took her hand in his and held it tightly. 'That is why I will help you. I was too late to save Isabella, but I may not be too late to help you.'
Verity squeezed his hand in return and smiled. 'You are indeed an honourable man. Thank you,' she said as she reached up and gently kissed his cheek. James, for the first time in months, had a purpose in his life. Since the death of Isabella, he had felt numb. As she brushed his cheek, with her lips, he felt there was hope for him. He could never forget Isabella, but maybe he could pick up the pieces of his life without that feeling of all-consuming guilt. The guilt that had been continuously following him, since her death.
Verity stood up and put her cloak around her shoulders. 'I should be getting back to Hadlands. Cassie will be worrying about me.'
'It's getting dark,' James said, looking at the dying light coming through the window, 'you should not walk back by yourself. Let me take you.'
Verity nodded in agreement.
They left the folly and found the horse, who was happily munching on a clump of grass. James mounted the horse first, and then gently pulled Verity up in front of him. Then they rode back to Hadlands in silence.
Chapter 7
Once they had arrived back at Hadlands, Major Mitford dismounted his horse. With his hands, firmly around Verity’s waist, he swung her down from the front of the saddle. As he guided her towards the ground, he held her close to him in his arms. Verity wrapped her arms around his neck in response to his touch. He leant his forehead against hers, and they began to gaze into each other's eyes. Verity felt she could have remained in his embrace forever, but he soon let go of her waist and took a step back.
They stood still looking at each other, until Verity, at last, broke the silence. 'Goodbye,' she said, softly, 'and thank you for your help.'
Major Mitford smiled and remounted the horse. ‘Goodbye, Verity,' he said with a smile. Then, without looking back, he rode away.
As Verity wa
tched him leave, she thought to herself how tender and kind he had been. He was quite unlike any man she had ever met. As he had briefly held her in his arms, she had felt something deep inside her, respond to his touch. For a moment, she had longed for him to throw caution to the wind and kiss her. However, she was grateful for his restraint. He was, after all, an honourable gentleman.
It was dark when she finally entered the house, and it took some time for her to find and then light a candle. The drawing room had been empty since the morning, and it was now cold. Verity immediately set about lighting the fire, still thinking of Major Mitford and his kindness towards her.
Once she had lit the fire, she became increasingly aware of her sister's absence. 'Cassie,' she thought to herself, 'it is late. Where are you?'
It was getting very dark outside, and Verity became increasingly concerned about her sister’s welfare. After an hour of worrying, Verity, at last, heard the front door open.
'Verity,' her sister said brightly, 'how was your afternoon?'
'You are late,' was the testy reply, 'where have you been? I have been so worried about you.'
'I told you this morning. I was going to visit friends,' her sister replied dismissively. 'How was your afternoon?' she then said in a friendly tone, 'did you go out?'
'Only for a walk,' Verity said, looking at her sister carefully, 'there’s no need to ask if you enjoyed yourself. You look positively radiant. The Autumn air, even with all that drizzle, must suit your complexion.'
'Really,' she said with a sigh as she swished her skirt, 'do I look "positively radiant."'
There was something about Cassie's demeanour that bothered Verity. It was not just the added colour in her cheeks that could have been explained by the bracing weather, and it was not the bright way that she had answered her questions. No, there was something else, and Verity could not put her finger on it.
After scrutinising Cassie, Verity said. 'Cassie, is there something different about your hair? It does not look like it is in the same style as it was this morning.'
Cassie took off her cloak and then patted the back of her chignon. 'Oh that,' she said dismissively, 'I got my hair caught in a bramble and had to redo it without all the clips. I lost some of them in the hedge.'
'Oh!' Verity said, still looking at her sister suspiciously, 'and your dress is rather dusty. Where have you been?'
Verity could have sworn that she saw her sister blush, 'I...' Cassie said hesitatingly and looking upwards towards the ceiling, 'I was helping Millie Taylor, you know the vicar's daughter, tidy up her father's books in the attic at the vicarage. They were, of course, incredibly dusty!'
Verity was not convinced that Cassie was telling the truth. There was a smell of wine on her breath, and Verity could also detect a faint smell of smoke that clung to her sister's clothes and hair. 'Have you been drinking wine?' Verity asked suspiciously.
'Mr Taylor gave us both a glass of claret, to help us warm up after we had spent the afternoon, freezing in his attic,' Cassie said, looking at her sister. 'And, before you ask about the smell of smoke on my clothes, he was, as always, smoking that ghastly pipe.'
Cassie then bounded over to her sister and threw her arms around her neck. 'Oh Verity,' she said, with excitement, 'you worry far too much about me. I have told you again and again; my future is secure. You will see, very soon, my dear, dear sister, that everything will work out for the best, and I will get my happy ending.’ Cassie released her sister and skipped across the room towards the door, leaving Verity convinced her sister was still concealing the truth. 'Tea?’ Cassie said brightly, 'I’m parched.'
Verity nodded, and Cassie left the room.
✽✽✽
James had arrived back at Highfields, just in time for dinner. As he was riding back, he had been mulling over how he was going to challenge Melrose and retrieve the documents. He had already ruled out stealing them. That course of action would not solve Verity's problems. Melrose, once he found them missing, would just duplicate them, leaving Verity still beholden to him. In order to extricate her, he would have to find a permanent solution to the problem. A solution that Melrose, clever as he was, would not be able to extricate himself without difficulty.
Once he arrived back to Highfields, James went straight to his room and rang for his valet.
Within minutes he arrived. 'Jones,' James said as he removed his riding clothes, 'what do you make of Lord Melrose?'
'It is not my place to say, sir,' Jones answered diplomatically.
'I would value your opinion,’ James replied honestly.
Jones sighed, and his shoulders dropped slightly. He hesitated, for a moment, and then said, 'if you will allow me to be frank, sir.'
James nodded his consent. 'Please, Jones, I value your honesty.'
'I find the household arrangements, to be rather strange,' he said, picking up his master's discarded clothes. 'There is a footman called Reynolds, but he is unlike any servant I have ever worked with before. He dresses up in all the livery, but he does not perform the duties that you would expect of a professional footman. I am also confident that he spies on the guests and...' Jones stopped and paused for a moment, assessing whether he should be frank with his master. He may not like the Major's rackety ways, but he still regarded him as, on the whole, an honest man. 'He keeps a record of their movements and who they have been with.'
'I also saw him talking with one of the "ladies" in his lordship's employ. One of the guests had hurt her badly, giving her a black eye and who knows what else. She was sobbing and quite beside herself. Reynolds was violent with her, he told her roughly to get back upstairs and get on with her job. It was very distressing to witness.'
James was sorry that he had dragged this decent man across the country, to witness such depraved behaviour. 'I am sorry, Jones,' he apologised, 'I thought this was going to be a regular house party.'
Jones picked up his master's clean shirt and handed it to him, 'I did overhear Reynolds say that the only reason you were invited, was due to your skill at cards.'
'Did he now,' James said under his breath. It was all beginning to make sense: The long card games, until the early hours of the morning, and the relative good nature of his opponents, even when they lost. Melrose and Ellington had been watching him all the time, plying him with whisky, until his head spun.
Jones tied his master's cravat and then helped him into his black tailcoat. 'Thank you, Jones, for your candour,’ he said as Jones adjusted the shoulders. 'Please, could you pack my things. We will be leaving first thing in the morning. I do not know about you, but this place is not to my taste.'
'What about transport, sir,' Jones said, brushing off the lint from his master's jacket with a clothes brush.
'Ellington's hired coach is now mended,' James said as he straightened his cravat. 'I saw it in the stables earlier. And I am certain, that after tonight, he will be more than willing to loan it to me.'
✽✽✽
Usually, dinner was one of the more sedate activities at Melrose's house party, but tonight he had arranged a special surprise for his guests, and it was not long until they had turned the meal into a raucous and debauched affair. They were not at all interested in the delicacies provided by the French chef. Instead, they enjoyed the other forms of entertainment that Melrose provided. James, disgusted and ashamed of the behaviour of the others, left the table early. He did not understand why the other men present, most of whom had daughters and granddaughters no older than the girls Melrose provided for their pleasure, did not also leave in disgust. Did it not occur to them that these girls were someone else's daughters? They were not objects to be passed around to play with, and then, when the novelty wore off, discarded.
Once everyone had eventually left the dining room, and most of the guests had retired to their rooms, James found an opportunity to approach Melrose. Melrose looked a little foxed and sat with a beautiful woman, with long black hair and green eyes, on his lap. 'Melrose,' he said as he took the
seat opposite, 'would you like a game of Hazard?' James said amiably, 'you can choose the stakes.'
'I did not think that Hazard was your game, but, of course, I will oblige.'
Melrose and the woman stood up and walked arm in arm to the gaming table. Once he stood by the table, with the woman leaning against him, he picked up the dice and was about to throw, when James interrupted. 'Do you mind if I use my own dice? My father gave them to me, and I always find they bring me good fortune.'
Melrose shrugged his shoulders, and said, 'why not?'
They set the stakes and began to play. James won game after game, and Melrose's good humour soon turned to anger as he became suspicious of his guest’s winning streak. The woman soon got bored and sat down in a chair. 'Let me look at those dice,' Melrose snapped.
After he had taken the dice, Melrose scrutinised them and began to scowl. 'Mitford,' he snarled, 'you had better come with me.'
James followed Melrose into his office, and both men walked over to the large desk that dominated the room. 'These dice belong to a cheat,' Melrose said as he slammed them down on his desk in anger.
James picked up the dice and rolled them in his fingers. 'I would imagine a man like you, would own a set yourself for your personal use.' James sat down on the chair uninvited and stretched out his legs in front of him. 'When you first look at them, they look like any other dice; nothing special at all. But, if you were to look inside them, you would see something quite out of the ordinary. You see Melrose; they contain a complex network of channels and a little pool of mercury. If you carefully tap the dice, in the right place, of course, the mercury will fill the desired channel. Then, with practice, you can control the outcome of the throw, and ultimately, the game.'
'What was that little charade all about?' Melrose said, still standing by his desk. 'You are too skilled at this to let anyone catch you cheat. Why did you make it so obvious?'
