‘What?’
‘Mr and Mrs Senior were stopped on their way home.Whoever it was that held them up frightened poor Mr Senior so much that as a consequence he collapsed and died.’
This news had the power to arouse William and he looked quite shocked. ‘Mr Senior—but—dear Lord, Christina, that is the worst thing.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘He was attacked?’
‘Apparently not. It was some kind of seizure. I’m going to see Mrs Senior now.’ She paused in what she was doing and looked at him hard. ‘This has to stop, William. We have to get out of this hold Mark Bucklow has over us. I don’t care how it’s done, but we have to.’
‘Don’t you think I want that? But it cannot be done, Christina. We are in too deep. He needs Oakbridge. You know what he will do to us if either of us even thinks of betraying him to the authorities.’
‘I know, and I shudder to think what Father would make of all this. I’m glad he isn’t here to see it.’
‘So am I,’ William replied, somewhat shamefaced. Even as he said it, he imagined that he could see his father’s eyes looking at him reproachfully for not standing up to Mark and his threats and felt a shiver down his spine.
‘Miranda will be coming back from London very soon,’ Christina reminded him. ‘If her father gets so much as a whiff of your involvement in any of this, he will call the betrothal off. He will never agree to an alliance between his precious daughter and a criminal—for that is what you will be.’
‘Miranda? It must not happen. Miranda is one of the finest things that has ever happened to me. I couldn’t bear to lose her.’
‘I know, William. We’ll do all we can. Hopefully it won’t come to that.’ He loved Miranda. She saw the truth in his eyes, in the sudden quiver of his mouth and by the softening of his expression. ‘Her father is eager for the match to go ahead—to have his daughter become a proper lady. We’ll think of what is to be done about Mark later, but right now I must go to Mrs Senior. Lord Rockley insists on accompanying me and there’s nothing I can say to put him off.’
‘I should come with you.’
‘Yes, you should, but you’re in no fit state and I don’t have time to wait.’
With his glazed eyes fixed on hers, William struggled in his blind belief in his sister to make everything right. After a moment he gave a jerky nod and turned away.
Christina closed the door behind her, leaning her head against it and closing her eyes. If only she’d been born a man, she would not have let this happen. She feared Mark Bucklow and loathed him for what he was and what he was doing to them both, but she was fully aware of his strength. He would crush her as easily as a snail beneath his boot if she opened her mouth, she had no doubt of that. But she would find some way out of this misery—she must.
Chapter Five
Christina found Lord Rockley pacing the hall.
‘I apologise for forcing my company on you further,’ he said harshly. ‘I promise that as soon as I have spoken to Mrs Senior, my valet and I will be on our way, leaving you to do whatever it is you do—although my business is far from finished here.’
Christina thought this a strange thing for him to say and she wondered what could be behind his words. She would be relieved when he had left Oakbridge, but she felt a strong tug of regret. She could not understand her own feelings, yet she felt a curious reluctance about him leaving. She felt it strange that she did not fear him. She had never felt entirely comfortable in the company of men, and she had expected it to be no different with Lord Rockley. But it was. With him she felt safe, protected, and deep down inside her she did not want him to go away.
* * *
They had travelled the mile and a half in comparative silence. Simon had much to think about. His contemplation on his conversation with Christina the night before, and her furtive manner when he had raised the subject of Mark Bucklow—how much more suspicious it all seemed after what had happened to Mr Senior. And according to Henry, who’d been out and about early, his ear to the ground, Mrs Senior’s conveyance wasn’t the only coach to be stopped and the occupants robbed after leaving Oakbridge last night.
Simon had been suspicious about Oakbridge all along. Christina’s familiarity with Bucklow’s dog, the voices raised in anger during the night, one of them a woman’s voice—Christina’s he was sure—and that when he’d queried it and she had nervously tried to assure him that there was nothing amiss but her brother’s drunken snores, all added to his suspicions.
A deep silence hung over the Senior household. Servants glided about like shadows. Ever since Mr Senior had been brought back to the house with news of the robbery, Mrs Senior’s grief had filled the house with alarm and dread. The old lady sat dwarf-like on a sofa. With her daughter beside her, she was in a terribly distressed state.
Such grief as this made Christina feel deeply ashamed. She sat beside her and took her hand. ‘I am so very sorry,’ she said.
Mrs Senior raised a piteous grief-stricken face towards her, eyes red-rimmed from weeping. ‘I know, my dear. It is good of you to come. I—I cannot believe what has happened. It was quite—quite dreadful. We should never have attended the party last night. Mr Senior wasn’t well—but I told him it would do him good to socialise—and I was so looking forward to going to Oakbridge—it would remind me of the old days, when your grandfather—’ She broke off and looked down at her hands. ‘Those thieves showed no mercy. They—they even robbed his dead body—my poor, poor husband. I should never have made him go.’
Mrs Senior buried her face in her shaking hands and began to sob again so piteously that Christina leant across and put her arms about the old woman’s shoulders. She had listened to her account of what had happened through a misty haze of pain and tears, remembering that her last memory of Mr Senior was one of laughter and a smiling face. Now there was nothing left.
‘Dear Mrs Senior, please stop torturing yourself. You have nothing to blame yourself for.’ Christina glanced at Lord Rockley, who had taken up a stance by the window.
He moved towards them. After expressing his condolences to Mrs Senior and her family, in a voice that was suddenly sympathetic and understanding, he said, ‘Forgive me. I do not mean to add to your grief, but I would be grateful if you would try to answer one or two questions.’
With gentle tact he questioned her about the assailants. She was willing to answer his questions, but could not give a clear description of them—two of them, as she recalled, who insisted on them parting with their valuables.
‘I am sorry I can’t recall anything more that may be of further value to you, Lord Rockley,’ she said, dabbing at her eyes. ‘One ruffian looks just like another in the dark—and I was too concerned about Mr Senior to take much notice. I’d like to think the villains are unlikely to show their faces in the area again, but I won’t be satisfied until they’re caught.’
‘And it is my job to see that they are,’ Lord Rockley said.
* * *
After handing Christina up into the carriage, Simon settled himself into the seat facing her. Christina felt tension and guilt weighing on her spirit. Lord Rockley’s lips had tightened into a thin line, then, grimacing with suppressed anger, he said, ‘This cannot go on. There must be an end to it—and soon.’ The level grey eyes settled on Christina. ‘This is Bucklow’s work. One way or another I will find him.’
Christina looked at him, her face shadowed with an immense sorrow. ‘Yes, I know. I—I hope you do.’ She averted her eyes, and for several minutes neither of them spoke. She stared at the passing scenery unseeing, silent and withdrawn. She could not rid herself of the remorse that she had forsaken her pride, and she suffered regret that she had allowed this to happen. A coldness came over her face. She must act. She felt she could bear no more. She could not pretend any longer. She was too frightened.
‘I am not blind, Christina, nor am I a fool,’ Simon now said quietly. When she turned her distressed eyes to meet his own, he felt an over
powering tenderness. ‘Earlier I asked you to trust me and I meant it.’ Christina’s eyes must have clouded suddenly, because, as if he read her thoughts, he said, ‘I know you are afraid and I would like you to tell me why. You are too young to be involved in some of the things that have become a part of your life.’
Christina knew exactly what he meant, and she averted her eyes, raising her chin mutinously. ‘I do not comprehend what you mean. I really have no idea.’
‘Do not play with me, Christina. Listen to me.’ His voice was urgent and so compelling that Christina had the urge to confess all. ‘I know Bucklow is no stranger to you, and I would not like to discover that your brother is in some way caught up in his criminal activities.’ When Christina opened her mouth to argue the point, he held up his hand for her silence. ‘Wait. Hear me out, for I believe there are things about Bucklow that you and your brother are not aware of.’
Something about his tone of voice made Christina look at him more closely. She was too curious about what Lord Rockley had to say not to ask, ‘Things? What kind of things?’
‘The Buck lows are of the Catholic faith. Are you aware of that?’
‘Yes—but then so are many others of our acquaintance. Does it have any significance?’
‘Mark Bucklow is a Jacobite.’
A sudden chill crept into Christina’s heart. ‘Oh, I see. But—what has that to do with anything?’
‘Are you aware of what Jacobites are, that they have been on the move ever since James II’s Court was exiled?’
‘Yes, of course I do. They are people who would like a Catholic king to succeed Queen Anne, since she is childless and has no heir.’
‘James the Third.’
‘I do know that. I am not stupid. Are you saying that Mark Bucklow is a spy or something?’
‘No. He is not a spy or a conspirator. He is merely an ardent and extremely active supporter of the Jacobite cause. Are you aware that he lived in France when James II’s Court was exiled there? He was undoubtedly involved in plans to bring James back to the throne—just as he is involved in installing his son.’
‘And you know Mark Bucklow’s character well?’
‘His character doesn’t interest me. A man is defined only by his actions.’
‘So, if he isn’t a spy or a conspirator, what is he?’
‘The money he makes from his thieving he sends to France to help finance the Jacobite cause. There is nothing he would not do for James Stuart. There is talk of rebellion, and if that is indeed the case, then they will need money to fund it. So, if you count him among your friends, Christina, you do yourself no favours.’
Deeply offended by his remark, she stiffened. ‘He is not a friend. If he is what you say, then when he is caught he will be charged and convicted of treason.’
‘That is right. If your brother is involved with him in any way, by his collusion it will be assumed that he is a defender of the Jacobites and will be charged with the same. You will not escape, either, Christina. The taint of popery will hang over you and you will probably never shake free of its deathly grip. The Jacobites seek to put James—who they believe is the rightful king—on the throne before a successor has been chosen.’
‘But that is not possible—not while the Queen still lives.’
‘Precisely. Queen Anne is in poor health, but she could live for a long time. Who knows? I don’t think they are prepared to wait.’
Still reeling from the discovery of Mark Bucklow being a Jacobite, Christina stared at Lord Rockley in horror as she realised what he was saying. ‘You mean they would kill her?’
He nodded.
Christina, her face ashen, felt panic rising. This was worse than she could have imagined and she would have no part of it. Suddenly Mark Bucklow’s thieving had taken on a whole new meaning and she realised the depth of William’s and her own involvement—but to force the rightful monarch from the throne—to kill her.
‘I can hardly believe it possible. William would not knowingly involve himself in anything of a treasonable kind.’
‘I believe you. He would be a madman to associate with Bucklow at all. What the Jacobites intend will never happen. They have neither the money nor the men—no matter how many carriages Bucklow intercepts and robs. James will never be installed upon the English throne, and the rich Jacobites here become poorer every time they throw their money into the Channel, believing it will wash ashore on France and entice James to England.’
‘You are extremely knowledgeable about such matters.’
‘I have friends in high places—Marlborough, who is one of Queen Anne’s most trusted advisers, is one of them. I cannot stress hard enough the misfortunes that will fall on your family if your brother is merely suspected of treason. The circumstances will blight your whole lives and subject you to the worst kind of dangers. William is to wed Miss Miranda Kershaw. Her father is a wealthy wool merchant in Cirencester.’
‘You know him?’
Simon nodded. ‘Vaguely. He is a man who will make quite sure that his daughter will marry a person whose family connections will withstand the most scrupulous examination.’
‘But—I told you, it is arranged. Miranda and William are to wed very soon.’
‘But not soon enough. When I have Bucklow in my grip—which I am certain will be sooner rather than later—his entire network of thieves will be blown right open. I think you know what I am saying, Christina.’
Christina sat tense and still. She met his gaze, knowing he was issuing a warning and that she would ignore it at her peril.
‘If you know where Bucklow can be found, it would be in your best interests to tell me.’
Christina called upon the sturdiest reserves of her self-discipline. ‘I cannot do that—and—I wish you would talk to William about this. Tell him what you have just told me. If he has anything to say that might help you in any way, then I am sure he will do so. But—why are you telling me this?’
He looked at her for a long moment and Christina fancied there was a strange expression on his face she had not seen before. ‘Because of what has happened to Mr Senior. Be wary, Christina. Let me help you.’
She felt his words like a douche of cold water, her brain racing as she tried to think of a way out of this hole, this trap into which she had fallen. ‘There is no need,’ she said, conscious as she spoke of the dismay in her voice. She felt he was unconvinced and added quickly, ‘There is nothing you can do to help me.’
‘So still you will not trust me.’
Having arrived at Oakbridge, the coach pulled to a halt. Tom was dropping the steps and Christina rose to get out, saying as she did so, ‘It isn’t that. It’s just that I cannot.’
Christina did not turn her head or look at Lord Rockley as he walked behind her up the steps to the house. Not until they reached the door did he lean forwards to breathe in her ear, ‘I understand and I would not force you, Christina. I sense your fear, and, should you find yourself in danger, will you promise to come to me? I will help you. I promise you.’
Christina paused to look at him. He was sincere, that she knew, but what could she say without betraying them all? She nodded and quietly said, ‘Thank you.’
* * *
William was waiting for them when they arrived back at Oakbridge, and he greeted Lord Rockley with almost fawning enthusiasm. Christina felt a pang of relief to see him bathed and shaved, his attitude more cheerful, although she did wonder what had brought about this change.
‘How was your visit to Mrs Senior? How was the dear lady?’ he asked.
‘Mrs Senior is extremely distressed, and with good reason,’ his sister informed him.
‘I am sincerely sorry to hear it. It’s a dreadful business. I’ll make a point of riding over to pay my condolences myself later.’
‘I’m sure she would appreciate that.’
‘It’s almost time for luncheon. You will eat with us, Lord Rockley?’
Christina looked at her brother apprehensively. �
��I believe Lord Rockley has to be on his way, William. Is that not so, Lord Rockley?’
Simon readily accepted William’s invitation, which drew Christina’s gaze to him. She could already tell that he wasn’t going anywhere just yet if he could help it, and that he was already rethinking his strategy. ‘A spot of luncheon before going on my way would be most welcome.’
‘Splendid,’ William enthused. ‘It should not delay you too long.’
When they were seated in the dining room, Christina looked at the two men over the glowing expanse of white tablecloth and gleaming plates and cutlery as they ate a collation of cold meats left over from the night before. She spoke very little as, with relief, expansively William played host to Lord Rockley. Their conversation was mainly about horses and local matters.
When she had finished eating, Christina excused herself, giving Lord Rockley the opportunity to discuss with William what he had talked to her about in the carriage. She sincerely hoped so. With the newfound knowledge of Mark Bucklow being a Jacobite intent on removing Queen Anne from the throne to install the Catholic James III, the full horror of what he was mixed up in would hit home and he would indeed consider throwing himself on the mercy of the authorities.
* * *
When Lord Rockley was about to leave, Christina joined them in the hall to bid him farewell. She noted how William hung back. His eyes were cautious, anxious, as if he was uncertain about what to do next, which gave her reason to think he was troubled by what Lord Rockley had divulged.
She walked towards Lord Rockley, who was standing by the open door pulling on his gloves. Henry was waiting in the drive with the horses.
‘You will be going to your brother’s house, will you not, Lord Rockley?’
‘I have not yet decided. I half promised Sir John Cruckshank I would call on him when I left Oakbridge. There are matters we have to discuss.’
The Bride Wore Scandal Page 11
