Honor's Players

by Holly Newman

  Ivy, Elizabeth’s little country maid, clucked her tongue and shook her head at the carryings on of gentry. She crossed to the bed to sit beside her mistress and stroke her head in comfort for when all was said and done, whatever be a person’s class, true suffering was the same.

  Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; Tis thought your deer does hold you at bay.

  —Act V, Scene 1

  Elizabeth woke well before the first rays of dawn touched London rooftops. The dull throbbing in her head from the night before had grown into searing pain, her eyes and chest uncomfortable from prolonged weeping. She rolled over listlessly in bed and looked about the dark room, her eyes dimly discerning the shadows of her rage. Fuzzily she ran her hand across her brow as if to pull her thoughts together.

  She lurched sideways out of bed. She had made plans last evening, plans for this dark morning. She pressed the heels of her hands against her agonizing temples and sat down again on the edge of the bed.

  A soft scratching at her door roused her.

  “Mistress?” called a quiet voice, “be you awake?”

  Elizabeth rose and hurried to the door. “Shush, yes I’m awake.” She unlocked the door to let her maid slip in with a tray of hot chocolate. “Well?” she asked.

  “I doubt anyone be rising early today with all the hue and cry of last night. His lordship drunk himself into a stupor, he did, and had to be carried to bed. I saw the butler remove an empty spirits bottle and confide to Mr. Cranston it were brandy. Like as not he’ll have an awful head.”

  “It couldn’t be any worse than mine,” Elizabeth said dully as she sat down on a small sofa by the fireplace.

  “Can I fetch you some lavender water, my lady?”

  “No, I doubt it would help.”

  “Well here, drink your chocolate while I stoke the fire bright again,” soothed Ivy. “Are you still determined to return to Larchside today?”

  Elizabeth watched the woman deftly rekindle the fire “Yes, and I’m not going to wait upon a carriage either. I intend to ride back with only a small portmanteau of necessities.”

  She raised a hand to forestall Ivy’s objections “You will have to follow as best you can with the remainder of my things. I’m certain my husband will not stop you; however, if everything continues in disarray, it may be a few days before you are able to come.”

  “I understand, my lady.”

  “Help me get into my riding habit, then while I pack a few items, you run along to the stable and see if you can get a horse to be saddled for me.”

  “Oh, that won’t be no problem, ma’am,” she said brightly, “seein’ as how Thomas is kinda sweet on me.”

  Elizabeth laughed hollowly as her maid twitched the skirts into place and fastened the hooks. “Good, and keep it quiet. Though I do not think my husband will follow, I do not hold the same faith in his not trying to stop me.”

  “Don’t you worrit, my lady, we’ll get you off right and tight.”

  Patches of cold wet fog still clung to the road and laid low in the valleys as Elizabeth, followed faithfully by Thomas, rode toward Larchside. Despite her depressed spirits, she was amused by the young groom’s dogged insistance that he accompany her. She had even tried to order him to remain behind, but with an apology he refused. Her maid’s estimation of him climbed considerably and both were surprisingly voluble in their instance. They wore down her resistance finally by a blunt admission on Thomas’s part of reluctance to being available to answer questions when her absence was discovered and the reminder that there was no one now at Larchside who would see to her horse. He promised to be discreet and not trouble her with his company and so rode silently behind, leaving Elizabeth to her own thoughts.

  In truth, her thoughts were as murky as the day; the weather, she mused, was much like it had been the first time she’d journeyed to the manor. She’d come last time bottled up with anger and fear for what was to be. Today she traveled with anger and fear for what was not. How ironic for her to come full circle and the property, once considered a prison, now represented a haven.

  Her headache found relief in the cold morning air, and with that relief and the long miles to travel came an opportunity for objectivity. A nagging little belief that perhaps she’d been too hasty in her anger wormed its way into her thoughts. Justin freely admitted his guilt in the past. His explanation, though not terribly flattering, did ring true.

  And he had not strived to wrap up his actions in clean linen, to make them flattering to her ears. In all, he talked as though his guilty actions were a distinct part of the past and that at some time he had suffered an attitude change. Of course, suffered might be precisely the correct word, and he regretted any softness he might have begun to exhibit and thus felt no compunction in setting her up once again for the entertainment of society. Still, though he displayed some of the blind arrogance of the privileged, when his errors were presented to him, he did not retreat into stubborn denial as so many were wont to do.

  Regardless, there remained the matter of the last wager. If he had regretted his previous behavior, would he have engaged in such a heartless bit of foolery? Her spirits sank again for she could not believe the sincerity of his remorse if he continued to treat her like a stage character and an object for sport.

  The worst of it all was she could not tear her love felt for him from her heart. Nonetheless, she would not again allow him to get close enough to harm her. If she were lucky, he might divorce her or at least allow her to live her life alone. She sighed audibly and her mare’s ears twitched at the sound. She smiled and leaned forward to pat her neck. “We’ll be home soon, and though you won’t be quartered in the best stable, it will be dry and provide a full measure of oats.”

  The animal’s ears flicked again in response to the sound of her voice as they turned down the lane before Larchside.

  Elizabeth viewed the manor with satisfaction as she slipped from her horse’s back and handed Thomas the reins. The morning sun was burning off the gray fog while a light autumn wind chased clouds away revealing a warm, welcoming building instead of the foreboding edifice she had faced on her wedding day. She smiled, albeit sadly, and vowed she would make her own form of happiness here.

  “After you’ve seen to the horses, please slip over to the Humphries’ and ask Mrs. Geddy if she would be so good as to return to her duties. I’m famished and I’m sure you must be as well, though not, I warrant, hungry enough to stomach Mrs. Atheridge’s fare!”

  Thomas chuckled. “Nay, my lady. Don’t worrit, if I know Mrs. Geddy, she’ll nip o’er immediately and cluck and fuss ’cause she weren’t here before you.”

  “Yes, that’s most likely true. Now the question is if I can rouse the Atheridges to let me in.”

  But even as she spoke the front door to Larchside flew open and Mary Geddy, wrapped up voluminously in cloak and shawls, ran down the steps.

  “Oh, milady, milady! It’s reet glad I am to see you. The most dreadful thing has occurred, and I think he done it deliberately and I’m mortal scared,” wailed Mrs. Geddy, grabbing Elizabeth’s hands and wringing them between her own.

  “What is it, Mary? Who did what?”

  “Mr. Tunning, milady, he’s gone for the magistrate. He says it’s deportation for Gerry and maybe all o’ us, too.” Mary’s words came out in a rush, her color high and her spry little body trembling.

  “Deportation? For what?” Shock and concern in Elizabeth’s face gave way to incredulity. Thomas stood rooted in his spot, the reins of their horses held loosely in his hands as he listened, his eyes fairly bugging out of his narrow face.

  “Poaching. He says he caught Gerry removing a rabbit from a trap in the woods, but milady, Gerry wouldn’t hurt no animal, he loves’em.”

  “That’s certain true, everyone around knows that,” put in Thomas.

  Mary threw Thomas a look of thanks and continued: “No one weren’t more surprised than my Gerry to find the poor creature in the trap and he were freeing i
t, it being caught by only one leg.”

  “I see,” said Elizabeth. “When did this all occur?”

  “Early this morning.”

  “He often goes out early to see the animals,” Thomas said.

  “And is this generally known also?”

  Thomas looked uncertain. “I think so, my lady. I mean he’s done it since we were young and sometimes he’d drag one or another of the lads with him if he knew a mother with her young were bound to be out feeding.”

  Mary nodded vigorously.

  “Hmm,” Elizabeth mused thoughtfully. “Where is Gerry now?”

  “Why, here milady. Mr. Tunning has him locked up in my pantry, he does, and is scurrying off to fetch the magistrate. I was just talkin’ to him through the door when you rode up. Can you help him?”

  “Definitely. Now don’t worry. Tom Tunning will not have anyone deported while I’m here.” She squeezed Mary’s hands reassuringly. “Thomas, take the horses to the stable and see to them, then step up to the house. I know this is all very traumatic for Mrs. Geddy, but not so traumatic she can’t fix us all a nice breakfast, I’ll wager.”

  “Oh, milady, you know I would if I could, but the pantry’s locked—”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t forget, I am mistress of this manor and have a nice size ring of keys, and besides, I’m sure that grandson of yours is hungry, too. We’ll all have a nice breakfast and await Mr. Tunning's return.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” cried Thomas delightedly before he turned, leading the horses at a jog to the stables.

  Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes. “Oh, thank you, milady, thank you.”

  Elizabeth put her arm reassuringly around Mary Geddy’s shoulders and led her into the house.

  When Mr. Tunning returned an hour later with the local magistrate, it was a jolly party he found in the kitchen for Elizabeth, shelving her own troubles, endeavored to raise the spirits of her people with tales of London sights and eccentricities. She presided over the breakfast party with grace and humor, setting at ease Mary and her grandson. At first they were all frigidly formal with her, Mary scandalized that Elizabeth should choose to eat with them. When they relaxed and accepted her company, they were a merry group and laughter rang through the kitchen.

  The Atheridges vehemently protested Gerry’s release from the pantry and attempted to cow their fellow servants; however, Elizabeth summarily dismissed them from the room with warnings they’d be ill-advised to continue their rhetoric unless they wished to find themselves dismissed from Larchside entirely.

  Though the kitchen party congratulated Elizabeth on routing the Atheridges, it did put her to mind of the biggest obstacle remaining to her discovering happiness at Larchside, to wit, Tom Tunning. He had been a thorn in her side since they’d met. It was clear he viewed her as a nuisance rather than a threat to his position, and it galled her to admit she did not have the power to be a threat. It was obvious he knew she was the butt for society’s entertainment and as such, a nonentity, or worse, free game, Tunning, she realized with a heavy heart, was a matter she would have to take up with Justin, particularly in light of his current activities.

  It was clear to Elizabeth that Gerry was being framed for poaching. The question was by whom? Her obvious candidate was Tunning, for he had contrived the past month to rid Larchside of his family’s presence. In fairness, she knew she could not accuse without evidence. She was still puzzling her course of action when Tunning and the magistrate, followed by the smug Atheridges, stepped through the kitchen door.

  “What is going on in here?” he roared. He strode over to Gerry, hauling him from his seat by the collar of his shirt. He shook him like a rag doll. “Why is this miserable poacher sitting here? He should be locked up!”

  “Get your hands off of him,” Elizabeth ordered, rapping him smartly on the arm with a long-handled wooden spoon.

  Startled, Tunning fell back. “What are you doing here?”

  “Eating breakfast,” she snapped, “though it’s hardly any concern of yours.” She rose from the table, gracefully extending her hand toward the magistrate. “I am the Viscountess St. Ryne, and you are—?” she trailed off while smiling with just the correct degree of civility.

  “William Pfoffler, my lady, the magistrate of this county.”

  “I understand we have weighty issues to discuss.”

  Mr. Pfoffler inhaled deeply. “So Mr. Tunning led me to believe.”

  She nodded her understanding. “Let us adjourn to the library. I believe it is a much more fitting background to discuss this matter.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss!” Tunning blustered. “I caught this lad red-handed. He needs to be clapped in irons.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips and frowned. “Mr. Tunning,” she said warningly.

  “If her ladyship wishes to discuss the ramifications of this offense, we shall, of course, do so,” placated Mr. Pfoffler.

  “Thank you. Thomas, you may return to the stables for now.” He touched his forelock and scrambled out of his seat.

  “Your arm?” she requested the magistrate.

  Smiling benignly at her, he extended his arm and led her out of the room followed by a scowling Tunning and the rest.

  In the library Elizabeth sat behind her desk, ordered Atheridge to lay a fire, and encouraged Mary to one of the seats near it. Atheridge began to object but was forestalled by the quelling look on the Viscountess’s face. He and his wife moved to stand by the door only to be summarily dismissed from the room. Though Tunning glowered, the magistrate nodded approval forcing the estate agent to hold his tongue.

  “Now, what exactly is the nature of the charges?” Elizabeth asked the magistrate.

  “Poaching, and it’s a serious crime, my lady. Just this year the government made it punishable by deportation to Australia.”

  “Should still be a hanging offense,” muttered Tunning.

  Elizabeth pointedly ignored him. “I would like to know the circumstances which prompted this charge.”

  “Mr. Tunning claims he caught young Gerry Humphries here with a snare in one hand and a rabbit in the other.”

  “I see. And when did this occur, Mr. Tunning?”

  “At dawn.”

  “You were up early. Why?”

  “My actions aren’t in question; it’s this dog you should be asking.”

  “You are being unaccountably difficult, Mr. Tunning. All right, maybe you’ll answer me this: did you see Gerry set the trap?”

  “Well, no, I don’t know when he did that. Probably the night before when I was busy with the accounts.”

  “So how can you say for certain he set the trap?”

  “Makes no matter, he must a known it was there.”

  “Why? Isn’t it possible he could have stumbled upon it?”

  “Impossible, not in that part of the woods.”

  “But you were there, too. If he hadn’t found it first, might not you have? And if you had freed the rabbit and someone saw you, should they call you poacher?”

  ’‘You’re forgetting one thing. There’s the matter of the poacher’s bag lying not far from the trap.”

  “Poacher’s bag?” Elizabeth looked quizzically at Gerry who shrugged his bewilderment.

  “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Tunning took me to the scene of the crime this morning before we came here, and I found it under a bush with two traps and another rabbit.”

  “Found this morning, you say, after Gerry was locked in my pantry?”

  “Yes, just before we came here.”

  She looked at Tunning and nodded thoughtfully. “Clever. You were certainly thorough when you constructed this crime. What puzzles me is why you are afraid of the Humphries.”

  “What!” roared Tunning.

  “You see, Mr. Pfoffler,” said Elizabeth, ignoring Tunning, “Gerry is well known in the neighborhood as an animal lover who often goes out early to view the animals in the woods. He would be the last person to set snares to capture rabbits. Someone who knew of
his habit could easily frame him for poaching. It strikes me odd that Mr. Tunning should be about so early in the morning and just so happen to be in the proper location to view Gerry with snare and rabbit in hand, particularly when one knows Mr. Tunning has been encouraging the Viscount to turn the Humphries out of the Home farm. He claims they are a bad lot yet, inexplicably, the Home farm is in the best condition. I contend our estate agent has manufactured this incident as a means to destroy the Humphries.”

  “My lady, that’s a serious accusation.”

  “You Jade,” growled Tunning.

  “Mr. Tunning, please!”

  “Oh, his lordship has his hands full with this one, he does. Do you know, sir, what society calls her? The Shrew of London, I can see you’ve heard the title. It was bestowed on her for being the most unmanageable and contrary female. The Viscount deserves our sympathy. She will do whatever runs against his lordship’s best interests. He even gave me explicit orders when he was away to have charge of all monies. She wasn’t to have a farthing, that’s how much he don’t trust her.”

  “That will be enough, Mr. Tunning,” ordered St. Ryne coldly.

  All eyes turned in shocked surprise at the sound of his voice. He stood by the library door, his arms folded across his chest, his dark eyebrows furrowed to a straight bar above his eyes.

  “Justin!” exclaimed Elizabeth.

  His face softened slightly when he looked at her. “Poor Bess. Did you truly think I wouldn’t care if you left?”

  “I—I—” she began in confusion.

  “Later, my love. Thomas apprised me of the problem when I arrived.” He turned to Pfoffler. “You must be the magistrate.”

  “Yes, the name’s Pfoffler, William Pfoffler.”

  “Thank you for coming to investigate this sorry situation. It would not do at all for a miscarriage of justice to occur from undue haste.”

  “Yes, yes, quite right, my lord.”

  “Then I’m sure you’ll understand when I suggest you allow me to investigate the charges before we haul young Gerry here off to prison to stand trial. I’m sure later today or tomorrow will be just as timely.”