The Sins of Lady Dacey

by Marion Chesney

  Her aunt's initial feeling of relief was short lived. On a table beside Honoria's bed was Lady Dacey's own Bible, a great brassbound tome that Honoria had borrowed. Lady Dacey looked from Honoria's beautiful face to the Bible and back again. She drew up a chair beside the bed and waited.

  * * * *

  Pamela was working her way through the shopping list, her temper rising. Although she did not have to carry anything because she had asked the tradespeople to deliver the goods on the morrow, rain was beginning to drip down her neck despite the calash she wore over her bonnet, her skirts were muddy, and as she was wearing pattens over her shoes, she was always worried that the high ring of iron on the soles would cause her to twist an ankle on the cobbles. She was walking along Pall Mall when she heard herself hailed from a carriage and looked up into the features of the Duke of Ware.

  “Why are you alone and unescorted?” he asked, jumping down to join her.

  “I think your engagement has overset my lady's wits,” said Pamela. “She has given me a long list of shopping, the servants have been dismissed and told not to return until dark, and all because she wants to discuss wedding arrangements!”

  “I called and there was no reply,” said the duke. “What ails the woman? When did Herne leave last night?”

  “I do not know. Honoria and I retired to bed and left him with Lady Dacey. As you know, he took your engagement badly, although he said nothing.”

  “Get in my carriage,” he said abruptly. “I do not like this.”

  He helped Pamela up. She sat beside him in the open carriage, wondering why the gentlemen of the aristocracy appeared to favor open carriages in all weather.

  They arrived at Hanover Square and the duke called to his tiger to go to the horses’ heads, helped Pamela down, and ran to the door and hammered furiously on it with the gold knob of his ebony stick.

  “No reply,” said Pamela helplessly. “What are we to do?”

  “This,” he said. He leaned across from the step and smashed at the windows of the Green Saloon with the knob of his stick. The noise was deafening. Shards of glass tumbled down into the area below. Heads popped out of windows of the adjoining houses. The duke climbed up onto the railings beside the door and stepped nimbly onto the windowsill and dived in through the shattered glass while Pamela stood shivering in the rain.

  * * * *

  Ten minutes before this, Lady Dacey had let Lord Herne in and locked the door again behind him. “You have done it?” he asked. “She is ready?”

  Lady Dacey nodded dully.

  “Then lead the way.”

  Lady Dacey walked slowly up the stairs. Why was she doing this? She could not get away with it. There would be questions and questions. Oh, what a coincidence, the duke would sneer, that Honoria was drugged and raped on the very day that Lady Dacey decided to dismiss the servants and send Mrs. Perryworth away. And yet, the alternative was ruin and possibly the gallows for having dared to pretend to be a peeress.

  Lord Herne walked past her and into Honoria's bedchamber. He stood at the end of the bed, rubbing his hands, like a gourmet about to embark on a delicious meal.

  It was then that Honoria opened her eyes and saw him and knew why Lady Dacey had tried to drug her. She screamed.

  He made a dive for her and Lady Dacey seized a vase from a stand outside the door and brought it down on Lord Herne's head.

  “Curse you,” he shouted. “I will expose you.” He reeled past her and out onto the landing. He leaned for a moment against the balustrade and shook his head as if to clear it.

  Lady Dacey, sobbing, ran to the bedside and seized the Bible. She swung round and threw it as hard as she could. It sailed out through the door and caught Lord Herne on the side of the head as he leaned against the balustrade. He gave an odd sort of moan and before Honoria's horrified eyes, he toppled slowly over the edge and straight down to the marble tiles of the hall below.

  The duke rushed into the hall from the Green Saloon just as Lord Herne struck the floor. He looked up. Lady Dacey and Honoria appeared far above, staring in horror. He bounded up the stairs and Honoria flew down them to meet him, crying, “He was going to rape me!”

  * * * *

  The hushing-up process of the death of Lord Herne seemed to take forever. The Duke of Ware had no desire to see a future in-law in the dock. The only thing Lady Dacey would not tell him was what hold Herne had over her to make her behave in such a disgraceful way.

  The authorities were informed that Lord Herne had had a dizzy attack and had fallen to his death. Then, when they were alone, the duke asked Honoria why on earth she had gone along with the plan.

  “I did not think of Herne,” said Honoria, still white and shaken. “I wanted to see what she was up to. I thought that, as she had lost all hope of you, she planned to receive a lover. I thought I would pretend to be asleep and then, when the lover arrived, try to shock Aunt Clarissa into virtue.”

  “You cannot stay here,” he said firmly. “I will never trust that woman again.”

  “We must forgive her,” said Honoria. “She is so contrite and she did kill him in order to defend me. He did have some dreadful hold over her. She is kind and really good and would not have harmed me.”

  “Where is Mrs. Perryworth?”

  “Pamela is in bed with a bad cold. In all the excitement, you forgot she was standing outside in the rain and she was left there for about an hour, explaining to the watch and curious servants from the houses next door that she had forgotten her key and that you had broken through the windows so as to let her in.”

  “I could not inform the authorities until we all worked out how to hush things up, and so I did forget about poor Mrs. Perryworth,” said the duke. “But if Lady Dacey has some montrous sin in her past, so monstrous that it gave Herne a hold over her and she cannot bear to say what it is, then this is no place for you, my love.”

  “There is good in everyone,” said Honoria firmly. Her eyes sparkled in her wan face. “Even you.”

  And that was enough to make him gather her in his arms and hold her close and kiss her fiercely, so fiercely that neither of them was aware that Lady Dacey had entered the room and was watching them.

  She slowly backed out and went down the stairs and stood in the hall, staring down at the spot where Lord Herne's dead body had so recently lain. She was a murderess, she told herself, and a liar. She could not bear herself. She would go into a convent and become a nun and do good works for the rest of her life to atone for her sins. Overcome with the great burden of guilt, she sank to her knees to pray.

  And then just before she closed her eyes, she saw something sparkle and glint in a far corner of the hall. She shuffled forward on her knees like a pilgrim to have a closer look.

  On its side lay that morocco box, and a little way away, practically hidden by a fold in the long hall curtains, lay the diamond. It must have tumbled out of Lord Herne's pocket when he fell.

  Her fingers closed over it. The wages of sin, said a voice in her head. She rose to her feet, still clutching the diamond. The fire from it seemed to warm her blood. She gave a little fatalistic shrug. It was always better to sleep on things. Always better to make decisions in the morning. So, holding the diamond tightly, she went upstairs to bed.

  * * * *

  Pamela, although recovered from her cold, began to feel increasingly depressed. The sight of the duke and Honoria so dizzyingly in love reminded her of the bleak future that lay before her. Although her husband had ceased to write to her, she continued to send letters home.

  Lady Dacey had taken to her bedchamber. She claimed she was ill and took all her meals in her room, and so it was left to Pamela to escort Honoria to balls and parties. Quite often now, Pamela would refuse to dance. She would sit with the chaperons and watch the door and dream that one day Mr. Delaney would come walking in and smile at her in that way of his that made her heart turn over.

  Mr. and Mrs. Goodham had written to announce their imminent arrival. Pamela
, sitting against the wall at yet another ball at the Buchans', knew they would probably arrive on the morrow. Should by any chance Mr. Delaney come back to London, then she would not be able to talk to him or smile on him, for she knew Honoria's parents would report such behavior to her husband. Her heart sank even lower. Possibly her husband had decided to travel south with them and that was the reason he had not written.

  So she had one last ball where she could dream. She refused the first gentleman who asked her to dance and so was free to sit and dream for the rest of the ball. Her only comfort was in occasionally taking her eyes away from the entrance to watch the duke and Honoria waltzing together as if they were alone, as if no one else in the world mattered. The waltz came to an end. Honoria sank into a deep curtsy and smiled up at the duke, all the love in the world in her eyes. Pamela's own eyes blurred with tears and she looked toward the entrance again.

  At first she thought it was a dream, as the figure of Mr. Delaney, drowned in her tears, swam into her vision. She blinked the tears away and stared. And there he was, his eyes anxiously scanning the room. He saw her and his face lit up and he crossed quickly to her side.

  “Oh, how very beautiful you are,” he sighed, and Pamela, who had been feeling up till that moment old and frumpy, glowed at him. “Come with me,” he said. “I have good news. I hope you will think it good news. Please.”

  Pamela hesitated. “Honoria's parents will be arriving soon and I must be careful. I must not be seen talking to you.”

  “You will find that no longer matters. Come!”

  Wondering, she went with him. He led her to the back of the ballroom and opened a French window. They found themselves on a terrace overlooking a moon-washed garden.

  “Now,” he said, “I have a letter for you. You won't be able to read it here, so I'll tell you about it.”

  Pamela listened in amazement as he told her the contents of the letter and then went on to explain what it did not contain but what the whole of the village now knew, that the vicar had run off to America with Mrs. Watkins.

  “I can hardly believe it,” said Pamela. “He is such a cold, unfeeling man, not given over to passion at all! And he wants an annulment!”

  “Do you see what that means, my love? We are free.”

  Pamela looked at him shyly. “Do you mean ... ?”

  He drew her to him. “We will marry as soon as we can. I fell in love with you the evening I saw you drinking champagne at that inn.”

  She leaned against him with a sigh. “I have been so very lonely,” she said.

  He kissed her until they both felt dizzy but they could not bear to be apart, and so they kept on kissing and caressing while the shadows of the dancers moved across the windows behind them, and on and on, until the sky began to pale and the first birdsong arose from the bushes in the garden.

  * * * *

  Mr. Perryworth lay in his berth on the Mary Belle as she ploughed her way across the Atlantic and wished he could die. He had suffered from sea-sickness since the day they had left port. At first Mrs. Watkins had been solicitous, then bored, and on the few occasions when he had been able to drag himself up on deck it was to see her flirting boldly with the ship's captain. So he lay and suffered and thought of the times he had been ill in the past and Pamela had bathed his hot forehead and Pamela had read to him and Pamela had given him nourishing meals. Now he was bound for America and tied to a noisy jade. The more he thought of Mrs. Watkins, the more repulsive she seemed, and he could no longer feel any of that mad passion which had driven him to take such a step. He had a shrewd idea that she was after his money and that had been his only attraction for her. It was she who had suggested he draw it all out of the bank and take it in gold sovereigns. The money was under his pillow.

  All at once he decided that as soon as they landed, he would escape from her and start a new life on his own somewhere. America was a good place to hide, she had said. He smiled sourly to himself. Mrs. Watkins would shortly find out for herself just how good a place it was!

  * * * *

  Honoria's wedding to the duke was a very grand affair, although the gossips wagged their tongues and said it had been indecently rushed. An engagement of only three months!

  During that three months Lady Dacey had kept to her room. Pamela and Mrs. Goodham had made all the wedding arrangements with the help of the duke's secretary.

  Lady Dacey finally roused herself to attend the wedding. She dressed soberly and wore a hat with a veil. The service was very moving and Honoria was described as the most beautiful bride ever. Lady Dacey cried noisily throughout the service and was still in tears at the wedding breakfast.

  She was quite resolved that when the dancing started, she would retire to her room and was on the point of doing so when a gentleman's voice said, “You must not be so distressed.”

  She found she was being addressed by a middle-aged gentleman, Sir Frederick Tomkins, whom she remembered with an effort as being a relative on the duke's side of the family.

  “The bride is your niece, I believe,” said Sir Frederick. “You must be very fond of her.”

  “I am crying because the minx stole Ware away from me,” said Lady Dacey waspishly.

  “Now how could that happen?” he said gallantly. “What man would set eyes on another after having seen you?”

  She looked up at him. He had silver hair and bright blue eyes that held a wicked twinkle. Her large eyes began to sparkle.

  “La, sir, you are only saying that.”

  “Not I. When I saw your distress, I felt my heart break.”

  “Tish, sir, you are like all gentlemen; you have no heart.”

  “Not for anyone else, ma'am, only for you. I am sure your dancing equals your beauty.”

  “Naughty man!” Lady Dacey giggled. “Well, just one dance!”

  * * * *

  “I think your aunt is a very wicked woman,” said the duke drowsily the following morning. “I would dearly like to know what it is in her past that made her do such a dreadful thing for Lord Herne.”

  “I do not know,” said Honoria. “The only time before the wedding she roused herself to do anything was to burn masses of old letters and documents.”

  “Perhaps she murdered someone else and he found out about it.”

  “She did not murder Lord Herne. She only threw the Bible at him. It was an accident.”

  “A lucky accident for her I am sure, or Herne would have betrayed her.”

  “Sean Delaney has amazed me,” the duke went on. “I have done everything that is in my power or my lawyers’ power to help him. He is so amazingly patient waiting for the annulment to come through.”

  “He is happy and so is Pamela,” said Honoria. “It is now daylight and ... and I feel ... shy lying here naked. Do you mind if I put something on?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “Try this,” and he rolled his naked body on top of hers, and Honoria forgot about Pamela and Mr. Delaney and wicked Lady Dacey for at least the next hour.

  * * *

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