Too Dangerous For a Lady

by Jo Beverley

  “About the same age,” Polly said, going to scoop up Henrietta, who was crawling toward the edge of the bed. “But it was Charles Woolsey, so I’d known him forever. As I said, you’re the one for romantic adventures. Do you remember his name?”

  “No,” Hermione lied.

  “Only imagine, you might meet again, especially if you go to Town for a season.”

  Meet not only him, but the throat-cutting people he knew. At times she’d dreamed of a London season, but they’d never been able to afford it. Now it held no appeal. “I’m too old.”

  “You’re only twenty-three.”

  “Ancient, and we don’t know anyone to present me at court.”

  “We’ll find someone. A marquess’s daughter with a handsome dowry.”

  “If Great-uncle Peake is a nabob.”

  Please let him not be! A marquess’s daughter with a large dowry would stand out from the rest in so many ways, and now, reasonably or not, she felt that to stand out would be dangerous. A comfortable inheritance would do. Enough for an easier life for Polly and a moderate dowry for herself. Yes, that would be perfect. She could husband-hunt just as well in York or Harrogate.

  The maid returned with a big jug of hot water and Hermione and Polly prepared for the day—for the momentous meeting with their newfound, soon-to-be-lost relative.

  They took breakfast in their room at a small table by the window, and William came to join them.

  “There’s a competent enough maid called Nolly that the boys seem to like, but they’ll have to come here later for the view of the river. The other room doesn’t have it.”

  “They’ll love it,” Polly agreed as she poured coffee for him. “Any news of Great-uncle Peake?”

  “He’s no better, but he’ll see us at ten. Only us, not the children.”

  Polly bridled. “Why not?”

  “He’s a dying man, my dear. It’s perfectly reasonable.”

  “But he invited us.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t expect us to bring the children.”

  “Leave them at home? Even the baby?”

  William shared a look with Hermione, who said, “Polly, stop being silly. People do leave their children to servants, and probably you’d do so more often if you had money for enough of them.”

  “Oh, very well. I’m all on edge. I want so much for this to go as it should. What should we wear?”

  “Exactly what you are wearing,” William said. “I refuse to approach this like desperate supplicants.”

  That ended the conversation. William didn’t like feeling that his modest wealth was insufficient. They were all on edge. Polly was desperate, and Hermione was finding that she hadn’t shed the horrors of the previous day. She stirred extra lumps of sugar into her coffee, hoping not to quiver when the crucial moment came.

  Chapter 16

  At ten, they went downstairs and were admitted to their relative’s room. It was clean and tidy, and well lit by a large window that gave a view of the river. But it had a stale smell of sickness along with a pungency that might come from unguents rubbed into aching joints. On entering, they faced the back of the bed, because it was set in the middle of the room facing the window. It had a high back, but no poles or curtains.

  When they walked around, Hermione only just stifled a gasp. It was as well the children weren’t with them, for Great-uncle Edgar Peake was enough to give them nightmares. He was heavy-framed but gaunt, and only wisps of white hair showed from under a red velvet cap. The ghastly aspect was his gray skin. He looked as if he’d been dusted with ashes. She was sure the others must feel the same horror, but they all managed to bow or curtsy and say their good-mornings.

  He lowered straggly brows. “Here for my money, but took your time about it. I could be dead already.”

  Polly protested, “We came with all possible speed, Great-uncle.”

  William put a calming hand on her arm and spoke in his measured way. “As I explained in a letter, sir, your summons was delayed. It went first to Northumberland, then to London, where it lingered unattended for some days before being sent to my wife in Yorkshire.”

  “Kept me in the dark, all of you. Didn’t even know the old marquess was dead. Forgotten about, I was, but now you want my money.”

  He was as petulant as a two-year-old, but sickness could do that. Hermione had handled her father in the same mood, but she made herself stay silent. Steady William was the one to deal with this.

  He said, “Perhaps you were forgotten, sir, when the usual announcements went out. Our apologies for that. But then, we didn’t have a direction for you.”

  “Couldn’t be staying in one place to suit people back here,” the old man grumbled. “Stuck here now, though. Stuck like a beetle in a box.”

  “Your situation is most unfortunate, sir. You fell ill in India?”

  “India? What’s this about India? Last place was Batavia. Moved around, moved around.” He plucked at the bedcoverings with darkened nails.

  “What ails you, sir?” William asked.

  “Kala-azar. The black sickness. Saw it in India, but I didn’t get it there or I’d be dead already. Must have been in Morocco.”

  “Get it?” William asked sharply. “Is it infectious?”

  Polly let out a gasp and Hermione only just managed not to. How could they not have thought of that?

  The old man cackled. “That’s set you spinning, hasn’t it? Would I have sent for you if it was? Peter!”

  A middle-aged manservant was stationed quietly to one side. “Yes, sir?”

  “Getting sick yet?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Anyone else caught it?”

  “Not that I know, sir.”

  “Won’t. They say it’s caused by tropical air. True or not, it doesn’t spread like the plague. It just kills people. Some a bit quicker, some a bit slower. Wish to hell it’d kill me. Doctor was dosing me, but I stopped that.”

  William seemed to have run out of things to say, so Hermione took up the task. “I’m sorry you’re in such a poor state, Great-uncle. We were hoping to hear stories of your adventures.”

  “No need to butter me up, girl.”

  “And you’ve no need to accuse me of it! Oh, dear, I apologize.”

  But he laughed. “So you’ve the spirit, eh? Like me sister Anne. She’d have come adventuring with me if she’d not been a female. She’ll have run her husband ragged.”

  Hermione thought of their quiet grandmother. “I don’t think so, Great-uncle.”

  “Oh, have done with the ‘great.’ Wear out words before we’re done here. Call me Uncle Edgar. No, call me Edgar. No one calls me Edgar anymore.”

  “I’m sure the servants would if you asked them to.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. They’d make a sour face and say it wasn’t proper. Wouldn’t you, Peter?”

  “Yes, sir,” the manservant said, but with a slight smile that suggested fondness. Edgar Peake couldn’t be as grim as he seemed.

  “So Anne didn’t fight,” Edgar Peake said with a grimace. “She’d have liked some of the Orient. What of you? Would you like adventures?”

  A day ago, Hermione might have said yes, but her frightening experience had taught her better. “No.”

  The eyebrows came down again. “Why not?”

  “Adventures are uncomfortable.”

  She should have lied. With a look of disgust, he turned to ask Polly. “What about you?”

  Hermione saw temptation, but Polly, too, said, “No, sir. I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine why anyone seeks adventure.”

  Edgar Peake’s grunt was eloquent. “And the same’ll go for you, Sir William. I can tell at a glance. Go away, the lot of you. I need to think.”

  They had no choice but to obey.

  They waited until they were back in the bedroom, bu
t then Polly said, “Oh, William!” and went into his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” Hermione said. “I spoke too boldly.”

  “That wasn’t the problem,” William said. “It was denying a taste for adventure that cooked our goose.”

  Hermione turned toward the window to hide her expression. Would telling Edgar Peake about her recent ordeals win them his fortune?

  They waited anxiously for the next developments, passing the time in amusing the boys. They wanted to go out to explore, but none of the adults wanted to risk leaving the house and missing a summons. By lunchtime, however, William at least was losing patience.

  “I doubt he has a fortune at all,” he said as they ate in the dining room. Everything had been laid out and the servants had left. The children were upstairs with two maids. “A lifetime wandering around the Orient need not be profitable.”

  “I’m quite inclined to leave immediately,” Polly said, stirring leek soup without enthusiasm.

  “Eat,” Hermione said. “It’s good. I think he was enjoying pulling our strings, as if we were marionettes.”

  “Exactly,” Polly said, “and I won’t stand for it.”

  “Only because you now doubt there’s a fortune to be gained.”

  “Don’t be like that. You want money, too. For a fine wardrobe and a season.”

  “I told you. I’m not sure I do.”

  “You must want a husband.”

  “Must I?”

  “Stop squabbling,” William said. “This is the consequence of money. It sours people.”

  “Or the lack of it,” Polly snapped, but then she closed her eyes. “William, I’m sorry. Truly I don’t mind, but when there might be money for the children, I can’t not want it for them.”

  He took her hand across the corner of the table. “I understand, but we mustn’t let it corrode our happiness.”

  She smiled at him. “You’re right. We mustn’t. I’ll try not to think of a fortune at all, so that if the inheritance is just a little, it will still be a pleasant addition.”

  He kissed her hand before letting it go. “That’s the way, my dear.”

  Hermione gave silent thanks for harmony.

  As they served themselves from dishes of chicken ragout and vegetables, Polly said, “If you don’t wish to marry, Hermione, I won’t complain. It will be perfectly delightful to have you live with us forever.”

  Hermione smiled and thanked her, but put like that, the prospect could turn her off her food. Be forever the dependent sister and aunt? Of course, it wouldn’t happen. Without a rich inheritance how could she refuse Porteous? If she tried, he’d ask Polly and William to persuade her, mentioning potential generosity to his wife’s family. Polly and William would never urge her to marry for that reason, but the knowledge of what might have been would lurk, like an infection, forever. William was right. Money could sour everything.

  After lunch Polly and William rebelled by taking the boys out for a walk. Hermione stayed behind to take care of Henrietta. The willing maids made that unnecessary, but she was staying inside for another reason. She was fearful about going outdoors. The brute was in jail, but what if he escaped and came after her like a bloodhound on the scent? She peered around the window frame, seeking him. Of course she saw nothing, but it couldn’t stop her nervousness.

  She wasn’t going to watch out of a window all day, so she asked the footman whether there was a library and was taken there. It was a small room with well-filled shelves but a very unused atmosphere.

  “Did Mr. Peake rent this house furnished?” she asked.

  “Aye, milady. On account of his family house not being here anymore.”

  “His family house?”

  The footman was square-faced and solidly built, but clearly willing to gossip.

  “Aye, milady. Came here expecting to find some family left, you see. There were Peakes a couple of miles off, near Brimstage. According to Jim Suggs, who’s eighty if he’s a day, the family fortune dwindled to nothing thirty years or so past, and the house were sold, and then back nigh on twenty years ago, it burned down. Were proper old, it were, built mostly of wood, see?”

  “How sad.”

  “Aye, milady. Mr. Peake rented this place while he decided what to do, but then took a turn for the worse. Wasn’t well when he got here, but thought it were something called malery.”

  “Malaria?”

  “Aye, that’s it. And according to the vicar, that means bad air. Happen he thought he’d soon be fit, the air here being grand.”

  The footman left and Hermione looked around the soulless room. Poor Great-uncle Peake. Late in life he’d decided to return home and reunite with his family, and he’d arrived here to find them all dead, with even the house where he grew up gone. It showed the folly of being such a poor correspondent and of assuming life continues as it was, but it was sad.

  He’d hoped to recover his health, but when he’d realized that he had a fatal ailment, he’d tried to make contact with his sister’s daughter, the Marchioness of Carsheld, not knowing she, too, was dead. His wandering letter had finally reached his niece’s daughters, herself and Polly, the only family he had left, and now they were a disappointment to him.

  Why he should think they’d be adventurous she couldn’t imagine, for no one in the Peake family except him ever had been. Roger perhaps, but adventure had taken him to war and death. A little of that spirit might run in her blood, leading her to take risks, but only see the consequence—a narrow escape.

  She wandered the shelves in search of distracting reading, but the books were all the dullest sorts of treatises and sermons, perhaps purchased merely to fill the shelves. She wished there were a newspaper, for she’d like to know what had happened in Ardwick. It seemed likely she and the family would be traveling home soon and she hoped the way would be clear of all alarms.

  Might a newspaper carry news of her abduction? Surely Thayne would spare her that—but if the culprit had come before the magistrates, the story would have been told, with names. A newspaper should refer to her as only “a lady.” Or even “a lady of high family.” But they might feel no qualms about mentioning “Sir W—— S——y.” The more scandalous sort could tell the world that “Lady H——e M——hew” had been carried off by a villain. Porteous might decide she wasn’t worthy to be his wife. She shouldn’t want that, but she did.

  She gave up hope of the library, went to get her copy of Guy Mannering, and took it to the drawing room. It was a corner room with a window in each outer wall giving excellent views of the gardens, the town, and the river. Again she checked for danger.

  And her heart stopped when she saw a man on the road, looking up at the house!

  Chapter 17

  She stepped back, but even as she did so, she realized that of course it wasn’t the brute. He was in jail, and the man below was of a different build entirely—taller and slimmer, and quite roughly dressed. She sat on a sofa and opened the book—but then wondered, had he resembled Mark Thayne?

  She hurried back to the window, but the man had gone. Idiot to think it could be Thayne, and softheaded idiot to want it so. Did she imagine him like a troubadour trailing after his lady? He would be on his way to London with his ill-gotten gains, and good riddance.

  Guy Mannering provided excellent distraction until she heard the party return. The lads sounded pleased with their expedition, so perhaps everyone would be in a better mood. Soon Polly came to join her, bringing Henrietta. She set the child down on the carpet to play with a leather ball, saying, “It was good to have some exercise in the fresh air. I’ve asked for tea to be served here.”

  “Lovely. I found the library, which was uninspiring, but I learned a little from conversation.” She shared what she knew.

  “Poor man. That must have been a bitter brew. I never liked Carsheld Castle, but I’d be upset to find it razed fr
om the earth.”

  “And your family mostly forgotten.”

  William came in with the boys, washed and tidied. Billy was keen to describe their discoveries and showed pieces of blue stone. Hermione admired them, and some shells Roger had gathered on the riverside. The tea came and the boys were taken back to their room for their refreshments.

  “Now,” William said as Polly poured tea, “we must decide what to do if Mr. Peake doesn’t grant us another audience. I’m not prepared to kick my heels here like a petitioner at the gate, especially at a time of year when I’m needed at home.”

  Polly bit her lip, but didn’t argue, and indeed September was a busy time of year on an estate. Hermione didn’t want to argue, either, but she saw no point in ultimatums when one party didn’t know of them.

  “I think we should tell Great-uncle Peake that we must leave tomorrow.”

  “Force his hand?” William asked.

  “Simply because he should know.”

  “I’m not doing it,” William said, making Hermione want to knock him on the head.

  “Then I will.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Polly said.

  “No, but one of us should.” She stood, smoothed down her skirts, then went downstairs to knock on Edgar Peake’s door.

  It was opened by the manservant. “Yes, milady?”

  “I’d like to speak to my great-uncle.”

  “Let her in.”

  The man opened the door wider and Hermione walked around the bed to face the old man. Her heart was speeding with nerves, but William wouldn’t wait on his whims, and they mustn’t throw away all hope.

  “I thought you should know that we’re going to have to leave tomorrow, sir. William is not a gentleman of leisure and must attend to his estate.”

  “Humph. Pushing for an answer?”

  “To what question, sir?”

  “My money. That’s why you’re all here.”

  It was like dealing with Billy in a sulk. “You asked us to come to your deathbed, sir. Could we refuse? Yes, if you wish to leave your all to us, it will be welcome, for despite our titles, we’re not wealthy, but we’re here because we’re your family.”