It was a map of Vauxhall Gardens, with a message written in block letters on the reverse side:
Mrs. Rendel—I know who your husband is and what he has done. The price for my silence is £3,000. Bring the money to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow night. Wear a green domino and take a boat across the river precisely at midnight. I have marked on the map the place where I will be waiting. Come alone or you will regret it for the rest of your life.
That was all. There was no signature.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning Bethia directed Little Davey to drive her to Rundel & Bridge, where she was to meet Lady Edington so that they could choose a gift for Lady Letitia—or so she told him in any event.
Instructing him to wait for her, she entered the premises alone and without undue problems, sold for a bit more than £3,000 a diamond bracelet that had come to her from her mother.
“We shall be happy to hold this back for a week or two,” the clerk assured her, “in the event that you might wish to redeem it.”
She did nothing to correct his impression that she had lost more at cards than she wished to confess to her husband, but it was more difficult to fool Little Davey, whose suspicions were aroused the minute she walked out of the jeweler’s shop without Lady Edington.
For a moment she considered lying to him and claiming that her friend had sent ’round a note postponing their meeting, but she changed her mind when she realized that she could not under any circumstances go alone to a rendezvous with a known murderer.
Nor would it avail her to seek Adeline’s help, for though Bethia had no doubt her friend would find it a marvelous adventure, two unescorted ladies were not really much. safer than one woman alone.
Moreover Little Davey was the logical one to confide in, since he might possibly be persuaded not to tell her husband.
“Do not attempt to pull the wool over my eyes with more talk of presents for Lady Letitia,” he said when he helped her into the carriage. “I am not such a fool that I cannot see there is mischief afoot.”
“I can explain everything,” she said, but Little Davey made no move to climb up into the driver’s seat.
“It’s not me you should be telling what’s going on. Mr. Rendel is the one what needs to know about anything that’s havey-cavey, ’cause he’s the best one for thinking his way out of a tight spot that ever I met.”
“Please trust me,” she said. “There are reasons why he must not know any of this. Only meet me in the kitchen garden as soon as possible after we return home, and I promise I shall tell you the truth.”
“The whole truth or only the part of it you wish me to hear?”
“I swear on my grandfather’s grave that I will hold nothing back,” she said.
With a grudging nod he took his place in the carriage and turned the horses’ heads toward home.
“It would be better if we told Mr. Rendel,” Little Davey repeated after Bethia had explained it all to him.
“He will forbid my going there,” she replied. “You know as well as I do he would not allow it.”
“Then it should not be done.”
“In which case, my murderous cousin is free to spread slanderous gossip about me and my husband,” Bethia pointed out, trying to keep her tone of voice reasonable in the face of such pigheadedness. “Besides, I have said you may tell Mr. Rendel everything. All I ask is that you wait to tell him until ten minutes after I set off for the river.”
“But that means you will have to cross the Thames alone.”
“Not alone. There will be a boatman. I shall not set foot in a boat that contains even one additional person, of that you may be sure.”
“I still think it would be better if Mr. Rendel and I went with you.”
Becoming thoroughly exasperated, Bethia said, “I do not know why you refuse to admit what is so obvious. I was told to come alone. If my cousin sees you or my husband, then he will not reveal himself. I do not know about you, but I do not intend to let him get off scot-free after he shot a man in cold blood.”
From his expression she knew that the mention of the murder had struck home. Little Davey hesitated, mulling over what she had said, but in the end he was not yet ready to concede defeat.
“But the danger to you—”
“Is minimal,” she said firmly. “You have seen the map, so you will know precisely where I shall be going. How hard can it be to follow at a safe distance? Even if you lose sight of me in the crowd, you know where I will be meeting my cousin, so you can easily be there at the crucial time.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But tell me, what is to stop the blackguard from spotting us in the crowd? For if you’ve forgotten that the trap in Carwithian Cove failed because we did not think there would be a third man, then I have not. We’ve no way of knowing how many men your cousin may have hired this time, and we are all of us now so well known in London that we cannot hope to remain unrecognized.”
“I will give you money, and you can go out right now and purchase a green domino for me and also two black dominos, one for each of you,” Bethia said, feeling as if her nerves would not stand much more arguing.
“Aye, that is easily enough done,” Little Davey said, “but if you did not think about disguises for us, then what other detail have you forgotten? I have learned the hard way that the best plans can go wrong just when you least expect them to.”
From the expression on his face, it was not hard to deduce that he did not consider her plan to be one of the best.
“But if anything untoward happens, then my husband will be there to deal with it,” Bethia said. “And you yourself told me how adept he is at getting people out of dangerous situations.”
Grudgingly, Little Davey admitted she might be right, but it still required another half hour of repeating her arguments over and over again before she finally got him to promise that she would have her ten-minute head start.
Which left her nothing to worry about at the theater that evening except how on earth she was going to cross the Thames in a small boat without Digory there beside her lending her courage.
It was entirely possible that Little Davey was correct when he told her she was dicked in the nob for thinking about undertaking such a dangerous errand.
With great trepidation Bethia climbed out of the hackney coach at the landing where boatmen waited to carry their passengers across the river. It was even worse than she had imagined. Not only was the water dark, but a light mist was curling up from the river, like the ghostly fingers in her nightmares.
The words she had said so blithely to Digory now came back to haunt her. I want to find out who I am. I want to know what I am capable of.
So easy to say when she was safe in his arms, but now the time had come to test her mettle. If she stepped into the boat that was now bobbing gently before her, she would be entering the world he had been telling her about—the world where a man’s courage and cunning determined his fate, not the title affixed to his name.
It was not bravado that made her take the boatman’s hand and allow him to help her down into the boat, because her terror did not abate in the slightest. Indeed, she felt more and more sick with each stroke of the oar.
But deep inside her heart was the knowledge that she could not do anything else. If it were necessary to save her husband’s life, she would even cast herself into the water. In comparison, a short ride in a boat was merely a minor obstacle to be overcome.
By the time she stepped once again onto dry land, she was so proud of conquering her fear that she plunged right into the crowd, allowing it to sweep her along to the main pavilion. From that point on, however, she was on her own, and she dared not hesitate lest her fears overcome her resolution.
Circling the pavilion, she set off down the walk that led in the general direction of the gazebo where she was supposed to meet her cousin.
Even the young bucks who were already half drunk and who were accompanied by half-naked females apparently recognized from the pu
rposefulness of her walk that she was on her way to a rendezvous. Other than calling out ribald remarks as she hurried past, they did not attempt to accost her.
Turning down the last path that should have led to the folly, she found herself instead in a cul-de-sac that held nothing but a stone bench. With a cry of dismay, she turned to retrace her steps, only to find that her way was blocked by a man in a scarlet domino.
“Ah, my dear sister-in-law, how delightful you look this evening—so pale and wan and ethereal.”
Bethia had expected one of her cousins, but when the man removed his mask, she recognized instead the notorious Earl of Blackstone.
“Cat’s got your tongue? What a pity.” He leered at her and took a step forward, but Bethia held her ground, afraid to let him suspect just how terrified she really was.
“I have brought the money,” she said, holding out the bag.
He waved his hand negligently. “There is no rush. I have decided that I shall first claim a kiss or two—just a taste of what my bastard brother has been getting.” Extending his arms, to prevent her from darting around him, he moved even closer.
Too late Bethia realized just how naive she had been. Little Davey had been right—unforeseen things had a horrible way of spoiling the best of plans. And as he had tried to point out, her plan had not been terribly well thought out in the first place.
Somewhere wandering around in the crowd—probably already at the gazebo where she was supposed to be—were her husband and Little Davey.
But unless she managed to force her way through the shrubbery, Lord Blackstone had her trapped. And if she screamed or tried to call for help, her cries would be lost among the many shrieks, squeals, and raucous laughter she could hear around her.
Which meant she had only her wits to depend on, and they did not seem at all adequate to the task.
If her husband were here, he would say it was proof that she did not belong in his world. Of course, if he were here, she would not be in any danger from the wicked earl, who was coming ever closer.
She was about to take her chances with the bushes, when two shadowy forms entered the cul-de-sac. The moonlight was strong enough for her to recognize her husband and Little Davey, both of whom were considerably larger than the wicked earl.
Unaware that they were no longer alone, Lord Blackstone said, “Come to me, my pet.” Before he could grab her, Little Davey caught him by the back of the neck and lifted him half off the ground.
“We decided to join the party,” Digory said. “Although if I had known who the host was, I would have forgone the pleasure.”
Bethia edged her way past Little Davey and threw herself into her husband’s arms.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she replied.
Little Davey shoved the earl forward, and he stumbled, but caught himself before he fell. When he turned around to face them, he had a gun in his hand.
“Surprised to see me back in England?” he said, his voice mocking.
“A bit,” Digory replied. “I had hoped you’d drowned after you jumped overboard.”
“It’s not that easy to kill one of the devil’s own,” the earl said. “I was hauled out of the sea in a fisherman’s net. I am sure there must be some cosmic significance in that.”
“You would have done better to have stayed out of England,” Digory said. “But the odds are good that there’ll be a place for you on the next ship sailing for Macao.”
“I fear I must decline your kind invitation to travel,” the earl said with an insouciant smile. “Having sampled the pleasures to be found in foreign lands, I find I much prefer England.”
Something was wrong here, but Bethia did not know what it was. The earl should have been at least a trifle intimidated, but instead he was acting as if this were all nothing more than a game.
“You will excuse me if I say that none of us are particularly interested in what a blackmailer likes or does not like,” Digory said. “And if you think your pistol will protect you, may I point out that you cannot kill the three of us with only one shot.”
“Ah, but you see, like all successful gamblers, I have an ace up my sleeve.” Concealing his gun under his domino, the earl raised two fingers to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle.
There was a sound of hurrying footsteps, and a slight, fair-haired man appeared. Actually he was little more than a boy, probably about her own age, Bethia estimated.
“Ah, there you are, James,” the earl said. “Let me introduce you to these charming people. Mr. and Mrs. Rendel, may I present my dearest friend, James Bartholomew, the Marquess of Baverstock.”
The young man grabbed her husband’s hand and began to pump it up and down. “Oh, I am so delighted to meet any friend of dear Geoffrey’s. You must be very proud to know him. I myself shall always be in his debt. He saved my life once in Italy, you know, and my pocketbook on too many occasions to count. The Reverend Mr. Wooddale and I count ourselves most fortunate to have had him as our companion, for you would be astonished how many truly abominable people are to be found in all those foreign countries. Their only purpose in life appears to be separating innocent travelers from their money, and I freely admit, the Reverend Mr. Wooddale and I were both truly naive when we embarked at Dover for the Grand Tour. But once we met Geoffrey, he was able to guide us around all the pitfalls and protect us from the card sharks and others of their ilk. Is he not a truly wonderful person?”
“And now if you will excuse us, James and I have plans for the rest of the evening,” Lord Blackstone said. “But before we go on our way, I believe you picked up something I dropped, did you not, Mrs. Rendel?” He held out his hand.
“No,” Digory hissed in her ear, “he will take the money and still betray us.”
But Bethia gave the earl the leather pouch containing the £3,000, even though she feared her husband was correct.
“If you wish to have further intercourse with me,” the earl said with a smirk, “James and I are sharing rooms at the Albany.”
“Do you realize how foolish you were to go alone to meet a blackmailer?” Digory asked as the hackney coach rumbled back over the bridge.
“I thought it would be one of my cousins.”
“Ah, you thought it would be a man who had already tried repeatedly to kill you. Well, that certainly explains why you felt it was safe to sneak out to meet him.”
“You needn’t be sarcastic. I have already come to see the folly of my ways.”
“Then why did you give Geoffrey the money after I told you not to?”
“Perhaps because I am desperate enough to clutch at straws; perhaps because—oh, it doesn’t really matter,” Bethia said. “I am too tired now to argue any more. I admit I was wrong to come, wrong to keep secrets from you, and wrong to pay off a blackmailer. It is all my fault. From start to finish, everything is my fault.”
“No, I am to blame for getting you into this predicament in the first place. I should never have married you.”
It was not his fault, but Bethia found she was indeed too tired to debate the matter any longer. All she wanted was to be home in bed with him.
Or better yet, back in his cottage in Cornwall where they could ignore the rest of the world.
As the days went by, Bethia discovered a sad truth about blackmailers. “Lord Blackstone is acting very peculiar,” she told her husband when they were alone in bed. “He comes to all the balls, but he does not dance. It sometimes seems to me that all he does is look around the room until he sees us, and then he smiles and departs. Is it my imagination, or have you noticed it, too?”
“It is not your imagination.”
“But why is he doing this?”
“He wishes to remind us that he has power over our lives. And doubtless it amuses him also to play with us the way a cat sometimes plays with a mouse before killing it.”
“Well, he is making me very nervous. How long will he keep this up?”
“Until he needs more money. When
his luck at the table turns, we can expect to receive another note. And doubtless he will ask for more the second time, and still more the third time.”
“Will we never be free of him?”
Her husband was quiet for a long time. “If you tell Cavenaugh what is happening, he will be happy to arrange for an unfortunate accident. A fatal accident.”
For a moment Bethia actually considered doing just that Then she was overcome with shame and guilt that she had even briefly thought about doing such a wicked thing. “I do not think protecting our reputation is worth a man’s life.”
“Nor do I,” her husband said. “So we had better hope that Cavenaugh never notices what is going on, because he might handle the problem without consulting us.”
Wilbur Harcourt was in the worst predicament in his life. Very little stood between him and a cell in the Fleet. He had no money, and his landlady had stripped him of all his possessions that could be sold. Or at least she thought she had.
The first thing he had done when he had recovered enough to get out of bed, was hide assorted articles under his bed, pushing them back into the farthest corner, where she would not see them.
If she had been any sort of housekeeper, she would have discovered them, but she was in truth a slattern and a cheat, charging him an exorbitant amount for a very slovenly job of cleaning.
Unfortunately, although he was able at least to go out in public, he had insufficient means to leave London, and as his landlady reminded him every day, the tipstaves were after him.
What he needed was to find a friend gullible enough to loan him the money he needed to flee the country. Pacing back and forth in his now virtually empty rooms, he considered where best to look.
There were not many options. He could not, for example, go to any of his clubs or to the more popular gaming hells, because he was sure to run into someone he owed money to. And it had been weeks since he had received an invitation to a ball ... but on the other hand, this was Wednesday, and there was a chance that he could gain admittance to Almack’s.
The Counterfeit Gentleman Page 20
