Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  She watched him finish with the bandage.

  "There you are," he said, standing up.

  "Thank you," she replied.

  "Let me know if you need anything else," he said, and he left.

  She was alone once again. Alone with thoughts of what terrible things might befall the man she loved. As she'd told him before he'd left, she felt that she was to blame for everything. Many lives would have been different if not for her. If she hadn't poisoned the brandy and instead just gone to sleep, her life would have turned out completely different. If she hadn't helped the beggar, she never would have anything to poison. If her parents hadn't died, she wouldn't have been there to--

  The beggar! She sat upright in bed, almost calling for Fabian immediately. But no, she had to think things through first. She could be completely off-track. Except that she didn't think that she was.

  Charles Trevelyn had become a sailor when it suited his purposes, what else might he have become? It was all starting to fall into place. She strained to think of the beggar and of what she had noticed on that cold night in December. She remembered that he'd had clean fingernails. Yes! Too clean for a beggar, she'd thought. His clothing too had been obviously fine beneath layers of dust and some rips and tears. That kind of subterfuge was easily put together.

  Most importantly, she finally realized why Fabian's earlier conversation had seemed so important to her. The scar. The beggar had a huge scar on his face. So did Charles Trevelyn.

  If Charles Trevelyn had been the one to give her the brandy, there was no way he'd assume she'd poison it. It must have been already poisoned!

  She pulled the bell cord beside the bed.

  Fabian came at once. "I would have sent the maid, but she's quite slow to respond."

  "Good, I wanted you. I have to ask a favor of you, but first, let me ask this question. What does Charles Trevelyn's scar look like?"

  He put his finger on his face. "It goes across his right temple, from here to here," he said.

  The two men had to be one and the same. She clapped her hands together, thinking of how much this would help them. She wouldn't be charged with murder! "You have to take me to Blackmoore."

  "Surely, you kid."

  "Let me explain."

  He nodded and she gave him the entire story from start to finish.

  After she explained the likelihood of Alexander's father being the beggar, she said, "So I have to tell them. It's important."

  "They'll be furious with me, Miss Fyn."

  "Not if it works out the way I've planned." She pulled back the covers and turned to place her feet on the floor. She stood up. "And I feel fine. Even you said that I was perfectly healthy. You have to do this for me. It's my future and I need to do all I can to secure it."

  He hesitated, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

  She knew she had won.

  Chapter 14

  Many hours later, they arrived in Blackmoore.

  "Mr. Mallory, I don't know how I'll ever thank you for doing this for me." They stood outside the house, and she stared up at the yawning empty windows with admiration. Some things never changed, and that ancient house was one of them. For some reason, it inspired her. There were some constants in life.

  "I know better than to try to change a woman's mind."

  "I can go inside alone," she said. "I don't want you to get involved unnecessarily."

  He shook his head. "Not a chance. Alexander and I may have had our disputes, but he was once a very good friend of mine. If anything happened to you, he'd kill me."

  "What makes you so sure that he cares?"

  "As I said, he was once a very good friend of mine."

  She wasn't so sure, but maybe he could love her that way if she proved her innocence to him once and for all. If that was just a little unfair, she chose not to think about it.

  They approached the house quietly and made the decision to sneak around the side to see what could be discovered. It wouldn't do any good to walk right into the lion's den.

  Her heart beat in double tempo to her steps. They crept closer to the study and suddenly she stopped. "I think I heard some voices," she whispered.

  "Is there any way to get closer?"

  "Yes, but I we're going to have to be very careful now. It could be Alexander's father or brother. Although how they would have convinced the servants to let them in, is unbeknownst to me."

  "Rich men always have their ways."

  She put her hand on his shoulder. "Let me go ahead. We need to go around a part of the garden and it's a little tricky if you're not familiar with it."

  He nodded.

  Now in the lead, she slipped around a few tall pivot hedges and moved closer to the study. Her heart pounded in her ears. The last thing she wanted was to be caught by Charles Trevelyn. She was thankful that Fabian had insisted upon coming.

  The voices were louder then. She crept closer to the ground, her breathing impossibly shallow. If she looked around the next pivot hedge, she'd be able to see inside the room. She looked, then breathed a sigh of relief.

  "It's Alex," she said.

  "Is he alone?"

  She looked again. "Yes."

  "Then who was he talking to before?"

  "It must have been my uncle and Rafe. Who else?"

  He shrugged.

  She looked again, then stood up. "I'm going to go inside."

  "Maybe you should wait."

  "It's Alex. There's no reason to." She crossed the remaining distance between where Fabian still hid and the glass doors of the study. She turned the handle and, finding it unlocked, walked inside.

  "Victoria," he exclaimed, in a half-whisper. "Get out."

  "What?" she asked, and then she heard the other voices. They didn't belong to her uncle or her cousin. She turned heel and sped through the glass door and back into the garden. But she knew when she heard the yell that she'd been spotted by those she'd wished to avoid.

  Not wanting to reveal Fabian as well, she ran in the other direction toward the back of the house.

  "Come back here!"

  She ran, and with each step he gained on her. Her skirts slowed her down, it was a lost cause.

  He grabbed her from behind, ending the pursuit. "Thought you'd get away from me?"

  How Alexander could have such a slimy brother was beyond her comprehension.

  "Not feeling talkative?" he asked as he dragged her back toward the house.

  She ignored the question and wondered where Fabian was. More so, she wondered why Alexander was talking to his family if they'd all come there to settle differences. Perhaps they'd already been resolved?

  No. She wouldn't have been chased down if that were true.

  They finally made it back to the study and she saw that it truly was a family reunion.

  "Well, well, well, she's fallen right into our laps," said the man she'd feared without ever having meeting. But of course, she had met him. Smoking a cigar before the fire was the beggar: Charles Trevelyn.

  "You've done well for us, after all, Alexander," said Michael, sitting beside his brother.

  Oh no, what was he saying?

  Mr. Trevelyn approached her. "You've finally come to turn yourself in?"

  She looked at Alex, unable to craft a response. He looked away.

  "Well?"

  How could she answer him? Of course she hadn't come to turn herself in and he knew that. He was expecting some sort of witty repartee. A stubborn set of insults, even though she was thoroughly beat. Perhaps clever answers to his biting, insinuating questions. She couldn't do anything of the sort.

  It simply wasn't possible when her heart was breaking. "Where is my uncle? Rafe?"

  "Securely locked away," Michael replied, smirking.

  She looked down at the floor. They had been betrayed. She had no clever witticisms left, not when she was looking at a man who'd played with her emotions until he'd gotten her right where he wanted her. Had it been easy for him? she wondered, to take her
to the heights of pleasure knowing all along that she meant nothing to him?

  "She wasn't any more talkative outside," his brother continued. "Let's just lock her up like the others and deal with them all tomorrow."

  Mr. Trevelyn nodded. He'd obviously seen that she would be no fun. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fight to understand what had happened. No questions would be asked by her, nor would she look at Alex again. Hopefully, never again.

  She then prayed that they locked her up--as they promised--soon. Otherwise, she'd have no control over her breakdown.

  And then they would have won completely.

  * * *

  "Are you awake?"

  Victoria draped her arm over her eyes. Please mother, only a few more minutes. I'll practice the piano as soon as I wake up.

  "Miss? Miss Victoria?"

  She felt the gentle prodding through her slumberous haze. Slowly, she opened one eye and then the other. "Betsy!"

  The young maid leaned over her with a bright lantern. "You have to leave."

  "Leave now?" She draped her arm over her eyes, exhausting from crying hopeless tears.

  "Yes! You'll be charged with murder in the morning," she said, her tone grave.

  She finally realized where she was and what had happened to her. "How did you get in here?"

  "There's a copy to every key in this house. But that evil man didn't know that, did he?" she said with a satisfied giggle.

  She forced her weak body into a sitting position, reached for her dressing gown and draped it over her shoulders. She didn't know what to do. She supposed she had hoped Alex would put all the pieces together once she arrived. She had the new information that Mr. Trevelyn was the beggar, but she didn't know what to do with it. If the Trevelyn family claimed that they'd found Hugh and Mark's murderer, why would anyone believe her story that Charles Trevelyn had given her poisoned brandy?

  "I've already packed your bag, Miss Victoria. It's right by the door. If you leave now, you can take the coach to my aunt's house in Kent."

  "Oh, Betsy, I can't!"

  "Do you want to be hanged?"

  "No," she said through her tears, somehow finding the energy to get out of bed.

  "I'll help you dress."

  In silence, she prepared for the trip ahead.

  As undignified as it was, she couldn't keep herself from using Betsy's ear to bemoan her fate. "He said he would take care of everything. He said he wouldn't let them have me."

  "And then he betrayed you to his family. He probably claimed that he wasn't like them and all that hogwash, but it wasn't true. Was it?"

  "He said I could be a free woman. We could explain everything--"

  "Well, even if he was on your side, the police have already made their decisions. They won't change their minds."

  She cried as Betsy buttoned up the back of her dress. "I know Alex would have been able to figure out a way. Especially now that I know Charles Trevelyn was disguised as the beggar that gave me the brandy."

  "Miss, we women, rich and poor, have to take care of ourselves. No man is going to do it for us." She turned Victoria to face her and nodded towards the carpetbag beside the door. "Let's get you going."

  When she walked down the hall, she wished it could be some other way. If only Alex had told her that he loved her, maybe she could believe that no matter what happened, he'd keep her safe. He had told her to get out when she'd entered the study initially. What could that mean?

  But he'd never really answered her questions. Never assured her that even if she was taken, he would bring her back.

  Therefore, just as Betsy had told her, she had to take care of things herself. Except perhaps with the help of Betsy. "You've been such a help to me. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

  "You know," the maid told her, when they were going down the servant's stairs, "I've been watching out for you from the beginning. I even took the bottle of brandy away and hid it, after what happened to Mr. Clavering. A lady like you doesn't belong in jail."

  She stopped. "You have the brandy? Still?"

  "It hasn't really been that long. It's where I put it originally. I could destroy it for you, if you like?"

  Thoughts filled her head of what that brandy could do for her, then she realized it was a way to possibly prove her theory. Of course, the proof might still depend partially on her testimony...

  "Betsy, did they find anyone else after they locked me in my room. A man?"

  She nodded. "A doctor, they said, caught in the garden."

  "Perfect! You need to give him the brandy and ask him to test it for arsenic. Can you do that for me?"

  "Of course."

  With new hope, she walked faster. Maybe she had a way out. She wouldn't go to prison or be transported. She'd be free.

  But then, she'd also be alone.

  She was standing in the kitchen when she realized she could go no further. "I can't do it."

  "You have to."

  "I can't." She remembered the last time she'd escaped Blackmoore in the middle of the night. What had it done for her? Sure, she had found Alex and she'd never regret that for a moment. But had she found freedom? Had she lost all of her worries and cares?

  No. She hadn't.

  All she'd accomplished by running away was complicating her life even more. What would make this time any different?

  She turned around. "What bedroom is Alex in?"

  "You want to commit suicide?"

  "I don't think I will be. I can't believe that he could do this to me. And even if he has, I need to face it head on."

  Betsy led her out of the kitchen and back up the stairs. "I think this is a mistake."

  "Leaving is what feels wrong." She followed the rest of the way in silence.

  The maid stopped walking when she'd reached the door that, presumably, Alex was behind. "Be careful," she whispered, patting her large stomach.

  She smiled. "Don't worry. I have nothing to worry about."

  She watched her walk away, then looked at the door. What would she say to him? Could he ever understand her viewpoint?

  Turning the door handle was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. She walked inside the partially lit room. She screamed when she saw a figure standing beside the bed.

  "Victoria! It's only me," Alex said, rushing forward. He gripped her by the shoulders.

  "Tell me right now if you're going to betray me," she spit out.

  "Of course not."

  "For some reason, I find that hard to believe."

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You don't understand, Victoria."

  She shook her head, aching from the emotional overload. "You told me that once before and--"

  "I explained things. Didn't I?" He stepped forward, looking at her with pleading eyes. "I fixed it that time. Give me a chance to do it again."

  Torn, she looked past him. She saw that he'd been packing. "Going somewhere?"

  "I was just about to come get you. Things don't look good, Victoria. My plan isn't going to work."

  "We're going to leave?"

  "Yes."

  "And go where?"

  "Anywhere but here."

  It was difficult to breathe and the pain in her chest had returned. "I don't understand what's going on, Alex!"

  "You will, but first, we have to get out of here." He rushed back to his bag and stuffed a few things inside.

  She couldn't even comprehend why he'd unpacked in the first place. "I'm not leaving here until you explain... until you tell me why you betrayed us."

  "I didn't, darling. It was all a part of the plan. But of course, you weren't supposed to be here."

  "But what happened?"

  He closed the bag. "When we got here, they were waiting. I think they knew that we followed them. It was an ambush. So I turned on John and Rafe, pretending that I had brought them here on purpose." He grabbed her hands.

  She wondered if he could feel her overactive pulse, or if her palms wer
e as moist as they felt.

  "They believed it too! Your uncle screamed and hollered at me, because he must have thought that he really had been tricked. My father was suitably convinced."

  Tears peeked out from her heavy eyelids. "Is that the truth, Alexander? You swear?"

  "Cross my heart and hope to--"

  "Live," she finished. "Forever, sweetheart."

  He pulled her to him. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." He kissed her affectionately on the cheek. "Let's go."

  "Wait, Alex," she said. "I don't think we should run away."

  "But--"

  "I know it's the easiest way, but it may not be the best way." She took a deep breath, still finding it difficult to believe that he hadn't really betrayed her. "Before I came here, I considered leaving by myself. Then I realized that it wasn't the answer to my problems. And now, even with you at my side, I haven't changed my mind."

  His expression was one of disbelief. "You were going to leave by yourself? I still don't even understand how you got out of your room."

  "One of the maids, Betsy, is loyal only to me. She knew where there was an extra key."

  "Betsy, as in Betsy Carter?"

  Smiling, she nodded. Then she remembered why she was there, not just in his room but in Blackmoore at all. "You still haven't asked me why we followed you here."

  "Trust me. I was getting to that."

  She paced the room. "After you left, my mind began to piece everything together. Rafe had said that he'd seen your father disguised as a sailor. I thought that if he'd do something like that once, he'd do it again." She explained the conversation with Fabian that led her to understand that Charles Trevelyn had a scar similar to that of the beggar. Then she paused.

  He came forward. "So?"

  "It's him, Alex!"

  His hands went up into the air. "I can't believe it! It was him all along... he was involved since the very beginning."

  "Right. So you see why I had to give you that information, don't you?" Before he could answer, she continued, "And coming here has been even more useful. Betsy had been keeping a very important secret."

  He shook his head. "If you're going to say she's with child, that isn't much of a secret, dear. Don't tell me it's my father's though?"