by Allie Borne
~ ~ ~
Warwick, England
October 1773
Two Years Prior
Charles opened the window to his second story bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The black sky brightened temporarily with distant flashes of lightning and the stark, white face of Lindsay Beaumont appeared out of the darkness.
Her black hair hung limply, like paneled drapes about her face and his heart raced, fearing she was some sort of apparition.
“Linnie? Is that you?” he called down.
At her subsequent nod, he quickly climbed out the window and down the lattice attached to the side of the manor house. Lindsay was soaked through from the storm and Charles wondered briefly how she had dragged what must have amounted to fifty pounds of sodden cloak and petticoats two miles down the road.
“What is wrong? What has happened?”
Lindsay clasped Charles’ open shirt front in white-knuckled desperation. “Papa is going to send Mother away! Charles, you have to help me!” she begged, collapsing into sobs against his chest.
Charles instinctively wrapped his arms about Lindsay protectively. “That is not going to happen, Linnie. Sir Richard would not dare draw attention to himself. Certainly not with all the legislation he’s trying to push through Parliament.”
“He is! Mother had a particularly bad day today. She lashed out at Alison and scratched her face. He said he’d had enough and she had terrorized the family and staff for the last time. He said it was Bedlam for her! He’s sending her to the sanitarium. Please, Charles, please help me!”
Bethlem Royal Hospital? Charles’ mind raced. Mrs. Beaumont had always been an endearing, if unstable mother figure for Charles. He had long ago promised Lindsay that he would not allow anything to happen to the emotionally frail lady. But now, his many boasts seemed childish in their confidence. What could he do to stop a husband from having his wife committed?
The law was on Sir Richard’s side. And Mrs. Beaumont was undoubtedly unwell. But what cruel malignancy of character would drive a man to send the mother of his children to such a God forsaken place? He’d have to act or he’d never be able to live with himself.
“Lindsay, do you still have the lock set I gave you?” She nodded silently.
“Good. Here’s what we’re going to do...”
~ ~ ~
Lindsay snuck into the house through the servant’s back entrance. She quickly changed into dry clothes and filled an overnight bag. Sneaking down the hall toward her mother’s room, she thought back to the Christmas two years past.
Charles had given her a lock pick set and said, “You may not be able to open your Mama’s heart and mind, right now, Linnie, but at least she can’t totally keep you out. Use these to get in her room when you need to be close to your mother. My mother and father are dead and I know how hard it is not to have them around.”
“When my Mama was sick, I wasn’t to be around her, but I learned to sneak in her room late at night and she would hold me as I drifted to sleep. I would sneak back to the nursery before anyone woke. You can do the same now, if you wish.”
She had done just that. Many nights, Linnie had unlocked her mother’s door, to curl within her unresponsive arms. Later, as her father grew more impatient, Lindsay would sneak in and give her mother a bath, brush her hair, trim her nails, or tell her the latest gossip. Her lady’s maid, Whitney, had been a great help, always bringing up water, saying it was for Lindsay. Whitney had a true heart. Only she understood how important it was to Lindsay that her mother appear to be able to care for herself, at least a little.
Lindsay had often feared that either her grandparents or her father would decide to send Elizabeth to a sanitarium, if they knew how badly she had deteriorated. Some days, Lindsay would spend hours in her mother’s room, just trying to force some food down her throat. Sometimes her mother would smile, or grasp her hand and it was all worth it. Lindsay knew that her mother loved her and was in there somewhere, unable to gather the strength to break free from her unspeakable melancholia.
As Lindsay pushed the pin and lever into the lock and slid through the door, she was relieved to see her mother up, reading. Lindsay sat at her mother’s feet as Elizabeth read aloud from Othello. “How poor they are that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?”
“We have to go, Mother,”: Lindsay interrupted, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Go? Go where? You know I do not leave this room,” Elizabeth chortled sadly.
“If you do not, Father will force you into a sanitarium, Mama! Please let me take you somewhere safe.”
“There is no where safe if I am to be without my family,” Elizabeth sighed in a rarely lucid moment. “If your father wishes to send me away, so be it.”
Slipping the gold and ruby band from her right ring finger, Elizabeth handed Lindsay the symbol of her girlhood hopes and joy. It was the ring of her deceased twin sister. “Wear this ring as my sister did, not as I have. Wear this ring with a glad heart, seeing what life offers, not what it withholds.”
When Lindsay shook her head and tried to hand the ring back, Elizabeth snapped.
“Take it, for God’s sake!” Slapping Lindsay hard across the cheek, she immediately grasped Lindsay’s arm and pulled her onto her frail lap, rocking and sobbing.
Elizabeth’s breath and clothes smelled like Father’s whisky and Lindsay’s chest ached, dulling the sting of her cheek. She sat numbly as her mother rocked her, wailing, “Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay!” Linnie felt herself drift away as she realized her mother believed she was holding Lindsay, her twin, and not Lindsay, her daughter.
This further understanding of her mother’s grief helped Lindsay distance herself from the situation enough so that as her mother returned to her more typical catatonic state, Lindsay was able to gather up her frail frame and place her in bed. As Linnie tucked her mother’s thick grey comforter around her, she bent to kiss her papery cheek. “I love you, Mama...and I forgive you.” Lindsay did not look back as she stepped from the room and into the balmy night.
She ignored the water that seeped through her slippers as she approached Charles and the two horses he’d brought for the rescue. “She’ll not come,” she hiccuped, stepping into Charles’ warmth. There, the tears slid silently down her face as Charlie rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head.
“I’ll speak with your father on the morrow. Perhaps she can go to stay with my aunt in Bath. All is not lost.”
Sir Richard stood on the balcony of his chamber overlooking the field where the embracing pair met. His chest clenched tight in despair. How could he have trusted Charles to keep his hands off Lindsay? He knew his daughter was a rare beauty, but she was only thirteen, for God’s Sake! Why, he’d rip the man limb from limb for this! How long had Charles been taking advantage of his daughter’s innocence? And how could he call the man out without destroying his daughter and his family’s reputation?
Suddenly, an image arose, of a flyer he’d seen posted in London, warning that, “Rogues and Vagabonds” would be, “Subject to impressment in his Majesty’s Navy for a term not to exceed five years.” He knew what he had to do.
~ ~ ~
Early the next morning, nineteen year old Charles paced the sitting room for nigh on an hour before Sir Richard returned, looking bedraggled from the rain and mud.
“Charles! What a pleasant surprise. Has Bernard brought you any refreshment?” Charles crossed his arms and shook his head.
“No, thank you. I has hoping you and I could have an earnest conversation concerning Miss Beaumont.”
Sir Richard strode to the parlor door and looked about. “Why don’t we ride into town for some drinks. The tavern may be a better place to conduct this conversation.”
“I see,” Charles responded, realizing that Sir Richard would wish to avoid having this discussion around his staff. If he was going to nail Sir Richard down long enough to speak about Linnie and Elizabeth, this was as good an opportunity as h
e was likely to get.
The moment Charles nodded his ascent, Sir Richard sprang for the door. “Let me change into some clean clothes and I will join you in the stables shortly. We’ll take the carriage to avoid the rain.”
“Yes, Sir,” Charles returned cheerfully.
By the time they reached the inn, the drizzle had cleared and in its place, a bright, summer-like sun shown.
After seating themselves in the back room of the Yellow Sheep, Richard immediately ordered two tumblers of whiskey and leaned in towards Charles. “So, you want to talk about Lindsay, you say?”
“I do. She came to me last night and-”
“She came to you?” Sir Richard roared, then quieted, pasting a smile on his flushed face. “You don’t say?” Richard watched the young man shrewdly. “Maid! Another round of whisky, if you please.”
Inwardly, Charles groaned. He’d not slept a wink last night and the wet weather had left him feeling ill. Ignoring the tankard placed before him, he pressed on, “Lindsay was upset and asked for my help in dealing with a family matter.”
Sir Richard stilled, his voice growing eerily soft, “What are you telling me, Charles? That my daughter is in the family way?”
“What?! No! At least, not to my knowledge. She came to me about your wife.”
Downing the burning brew, Sir Richard declared, “Let us have a drinking game. What do you say?”
“As much as I would love to stay, I had a rough go of it last night and would rather not. Why don’t we return to the manor house and have a game of chess? I am eager to settle things and assure Lindsay all is well.”
Sir Richard shook his head, his relaxed body belied by a steely gaze. “I insist, Charles. We really must talk here. The absence of my family and servants is a much preferred scenario.”
“Very well, Sir Richard. What game do you propose?”
“Have you a penny?” Sir Richard inquired.
“Of course,” Charles responded, pulling one from his vest pocket.
“We will line up drafts of whiskey. The object is to bounce the coin into the glass. If you are unable, you take a draft. If the coin goes in, you ask the opponent a question that they must answer. Anytime someone misses, they drink. The game ends when someone passes out.”
Charles knew that for Sir Richard, this was not just a game. The man was seething. He wanted to challenge Charles’ manhood and question him about his daughter. What better way to do so than through a game? Charles would not back down.
“I am in,” he responded coolly.
“Maid! Fetch us several drafts of whisky and keep them coming,” Sir Richard bellowed. “You begin, Charles.”
“With a miss and a drink, I think,” Charles quipped, flipping his coin.
Charles knew that he would be woefully ill adept. He suspected that Richard had a skill in the game and was seeking to get him drunk. On the other hand, he had nothing to lose and nothing to hide, so he took a shot then shot the whiskey.
“Your turn, Richard.”
The coin spun perfectly into the glass. He began his inquiry. “I hate to broach the subject, Charles, but I have heard some disturbing rumors about my daughter and you. Is it true that she has a tendre for you?”
“She and I are good chums,” Charles responded matter-of-factly.
“Take your shot, Charles.”
“Another miss.” Downing the whisky, Charles shuddered.
Sir Richard’s shot again rang true. “I saw you lay hands on her last night, is that not so?”
“Yes,” Charles sighed, “but only because she was distraught. Charles might have to demean himself to get through to this man, but he was not going to make it easy for him. “Take your shot.”
Missing, Richard took a drink.
Thank God, Charles thought, as his coin fell into the cup for the first time. “Is Elizabeth not well, Richard?”
“My wife? No. She is poorly. She may have to be sent away. What does this have to do with Lindsay?” Sir Richard flipped the coin and hit his mark.
“Lindsay loves her mother and wants her to stay at home.”
Charles flipped the coin and it skidded off the table. His chair flipped over as he crawled to fetch his penny. Crawling back to his set, he righted it and downed his drink.
Sir Richard hit the mark and asked another question. “So, you are admitting that you have been improper with my daughter?”
“Aye, I should not have met her alone, it is true.”
Missing again, Charles hung his head, then downed the whisky. He was feeling warm and the edges of his vision were growing fuzzy.
Sir Richard again bounced his penny into the glass. “Have you been spending time alone with her?”
“You know I have.” Distantly, at the edges of Charles’ subconscious, a warning tingled. But through the alcohol-induced haze, Charles couldn’t figure out what his mind was trying to tell him. “I don’t understand the interrogation, Sir Richard. You know Lindsay and I have always been chums.”
Charles hit the side of his glass with the penny and cursed loudly. His speech was slurring and his vision blurred.
Sir Richard, his will hardening to iron, flipped the coin in the glass and leaned over his opponent menacingly, “As to your intentions, would you say they were honorable?”
“I suppose scheming behind your back was not honorable but I cannot deny Lindsay her feelings. I must admit I feel the same way. Miss-us Beaumont is a most precious and...” Charles’ face fell flat on the table.
“That was all I needed to know,” Sir Richard ground out, standing and staring down at his incapacitated neighbor. “Maid! Fetch me the bill and my coachman. My friend and I are leaving.”
~ ~ ~
Warwick, England
Present Day
February 1777
Charles awoke in a cold sweat. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the guest bed at his grandparents’ estate and sat, catching his breath. Thin scars ran across his back and arms, silvery white in the moon light. He had toiled away until only the core of his body remained, a hardened center of its old self. Each vertebrae and rib showed clearly through his dark red skin. Each lean muscle and thick sinew bared with any movement of his body. They rippled across his flesh, Apollo turned Ares. Fire and death burned in his eyes.
It had been three weeks since the Queen Charlotte had finally docked in England, freeing him from four years of forced service in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. In the two weeks since he had been restored to his home, Charles had been lovingly and joyfully embraced by the family who thought him lost to them forever. In his absence, it seems, he had inherited the title of baronet from his great uncle, as well as a a small, run-down estate with a dozen or so cotters and an ancient manor house.
If he could find himself a bride with a hefty dowry, his future prospects looked bright. Still, the nightmares, the feelings of helplessness would come over him, giving him the sensation that the world was closing in about him, crushing him, in infinitely surging black waves.
He couldn’t help feeling betrayed anew. Lindsay was supposed to have been here when he returned. It was thoughts of his friend’s devotion and innocence in the matter that had seen him through the worst of his suffering. He had thought she loved him as a brother. Surely, if she cared for him at all, she would have been awaiting his arrival, ready to nurse him back to health, full of guilt and angst over her father’s misdoings.
Instead, he had learned, she was enjoying her first season in London, dancing and socializing. The letters he had sent care of her London hosts had been rebuffed--returned unopened. That blow had been worse than her father’s betrayal, worse than the years of torture aboard the Queen Charlotte. Charles grasped his head in his hands attempting to contain the pounding. Get yourself together, Charles. Compose yourself! You will await their return from London. The Beaumonts will be sorry that they dared to tangle with you!
Chapter Two-The Set Down
"They called me mad, and I called them mad, and damn
them, they outvoted me."
~Nathaniel Lee, playwright and Bethlem patient
London, England
February 1777
Lindsay Beaumont blinked against the hot sting of tears. They gathered in the corners of her cobalt blue eyes, threatening to spill over and shame her more profoundly than the cold reception of high society. No one had out and out snubbed her. It was more that they avoided engaging her whatsoever. Not immediately understanding the cause of her lack of conversation partners, Lindsay had naively set out to engage other young women in friendly chatter. They would often smile benignly and discuss superficial topics, such as the weather or the cuisine. However, none would open up enough to discuss upcoming social events, much less to offer any invitations.
Lindsay wondered at their lack of eye contact while they fluttered their fans and gazed out at the crowd. Her eyes followed theirs, searching for a friendly face. It was times like these when she missed Charles the most.
Her mind left the ball and flew to the perplexing questions that always followed thoughts of Charles. How could he have so cold heartedly abandoned her and her mother to take a position in the navy? How could the steadfast and honorable boy she knew turn into an easily bought man?
She would never forgive her father for sending her mother away and buying off Charles with a position in the navy, but she held an even deeper feeling of resentment and contempt for the man who had nurtured her trust and made promises he had easily and thoughtlessly abandoned. At least her father was a self-confessed snake. Charles had pretended to be her savior, while all along angling for a leg up in the world. Had he really only been her friend for the money and perks that the Beaumont family so readily offered?
