John seemed genuinely nonplussed. “To what purpose? What would my mistress gain from such a ploy?”
“To confound and prevent us from actually finding my sister-in-law.”
Rian wanted desperately to believe John Fletcher was telling the truth but he needed more than his word. He needed—no, he demanded—irrefutable proof. For all Rian knew, the man could have been listening behind a closed door to his altercation with Isabel earlier that morning.
It would seem that John Fletcher was thinking along similar lines. Reaching in his pocket, he brought out an object and handed it to Liam, who gasped before handing it to Rian. Capturing the light, the gemstone sent up an arc of brilliance, creating a kaleidoscope of color that danced on Rian’s cheek. It was almost as if Catherine’s diamond wedding ring was kissing him.
“How?” Rian couldn’t say any more as he closed his fingers over the ring, securing it inside his fist before putting it to his mouth.
“I removed it from her finger before she was taken from me,” John said quietly.
“Who has my wife?”
Liam and Rian were not the only ones with fluctuating emotional states. For the first time in a very long time, John Fletcher was going against Isabel’s wishes. By deliberately spoiling her plans, he would save the life of another woman, and as this understanding came to him, he was struck by the oddest notion. John felt that if he told either man his reason for defying his mistress, they would, without question, believe him. Although he needed to save Isabel from her own folly, as well as from the very real predicament she had put them both in, he was acting to save the only truly innocent victim he had ever come across. Catherine. It would be John Fletcher’s one good act. Something that could not begin to atone for a lifetime of wickedness but perhaps it might help to tip the scales in his favor on Judgment Day.
“Please, gentlemen, let me speak as it will save all of us a great deal of time,” he said before revealing in detail the events of the previous night. When he was done, Rian turned to Liam.
“Your assumption was correct. Isabel meant to prevent me from discovering Catherine had been taken in the first place,” he said, sounding both angry and horrified.
“So it would seem.”
“Gentlemen, your assurance?”
Two pairs of eyes turned toward him, and John Fletcher shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat.
“My guarantee would be better kept if your mistress realized the full extent of her actions and understood how far my retribution can reach,” Rian told him grimly.
“Of course.” John had known that some bargain would have to be struck and being allowed to get Isabel to a place of safety was more than he could have hoped for. “I think her estate in Ireland would be a good place for reflection. Would such a distance be satisfactory?”
Hades would not be far enough, but Ireland would suffice.
“What makes you certain she will go willingly, or even at all? What if she refuses?”
“I will persuade her that it is in her best interest,” John said firmly.
“And why would she heed your advice?” Rian asked in disbelief.
“There are times when circumstance dictates the choices that we make,” John snapped, clearly irritated that Rian doubted his influence.
“Circumstance?” Now it was Liam’s turn to question. “What circumstance?”
“Gentlemen, I am not as stupid as you might wish me to be. I know that Lady Howard has become involved in something that has consequences far beyond those she anticipated. Leaving these shores is the best course of action. Besides, there is now another concern that must be weighed. One that changes everything.”
Though he did not look directly at Rian, John Fletcher’s expression was mocking. The man knew exactly who had fathered the child his mistress carried in her womb.
“What other concern might that be?” Liam asked with a frown. “Just what exactly is your relationship to Isabel?”
John smiled at him, an oddly smug lifting of the corners of his mouth. “I am in her ladyship’s employ. Nothing more, nothing less. Over the years I have proved useful, and Lady Howard values my insight on a wide variety of matters.”
Liam was not convinced. Clearly the man was hiding something, and if his relationship with Isabel was a longstanding one, the secrets would be dark, and numerous. But what could be so important that he would risk coming here, without her knowledge, to bargain for her safety and return Catherine to them in exchange? Whatever the relationship between them, Liam could sense it was far more involved than that of a loyal family retainer.
“Tell me, Mr. Fletcher, just to satisfy my own curiosity, do you actually have any balls, or did you allow Isabel to castrate you a long time ago?” Rian spoke so softly that Liam wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly. Had his brother lost his mind? A glance was all he needed to see John Fletcher also had excellent hearing. “It must have been particularly galling,” Rian continued in the same tone, “to know she would lift her skirts and spread her legs for the lowliest farm boy if he caught her fancy, but still deny you, eh?”
John’s face darkened, his expression turning murderous, and Rian grinned broadly at him.
Liam wondered if he should try to keep Isabel’s man back or simply let his brother have at him.
“Would you like me to share the secret of pleasuring her?” Rian’s voice now dropped to a dangerous level. “It would be to your advantage, surely, because you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
For a moment there was nothing but silence, a heavy, dangerous quiet, and then John Fletcher began laughing. It was not the reaction Rian was expecting, and the look he cast his brother said one of them had miscalculated. But which one? Why else would John Fletcher risk so much to bargain for Isabel’s safety?
“Forgive me, Mr. Connor, but I could probably better educate you as to how her ladyship likes to be pleasured, both in bed and out of it,” John told him scornfully. “And perhaps if I had, the need for this conversation would never have occurred.” He shook his head. “Your assessment is quite wrong; I am not in love with Lady—”
“No, you’re not,” Liam interrupted. He spoke slowly, weighing each word with care. “I should have seen it before, and I suppose I did, but I thought—”
“—it too preposterous to be true?” John finished for him.
Liam nodded while Rian fixed him with a blank stare. “It’s all in the shape of the mouth and the eyes,” Liam told him. “Stupid of me, really, not to have noticed right away, especially as their eyes are so similar in color.”
It was now Rian’s turn to stare at the man sitting across the room from them. Of course! How could he have missed it? “Isabel is your sister?” he asked incredulously.
“You see, Rian, he does love her, but he’s not in love with her,” Liam clarified before addressing John again. “But she doesn’t know blood ties you to her, does she?”
John shook his head. “How, if I may ask?” Liam was, as always, unfailingly polite.
“Different fathers, but the same whore of a mother.” John Fletcher shrugged as if the entire matter was of little consequence, but that careless gesture spoke volumes.
“And her marriage to Lord Howard, I suppose you had a hand in bringing that about also?”
John permitted himself a wry smile. “I can take credit for the introduction only. What happened afterwards, well, Bella managed that all by herself.” He stared at both Rian and Liam, sensing a shift in his favor. “Perhaps we should get back to the matter at hand. Do I have your assurances, gentlemen?” He spoke with a firmness that said he would not be swayed from his course.
“And if we choose not to give any?” Rian said, wanting his adversary to know he, too, could be stubborn.
John Fletcher sighed. “Then we will be at a stalemate, which will not be to your advantage. Time is running short.” He made
a point of looking at the clock before turning back to Rian. “I will not divulge your wife’s whereabouts without an agreement in place.”
“When you next see your mistress you may tell her I will seek no reprisal,” he said, and then his gaze bored into John. “Provided she follows your advice, and departs for Ireland before the day is out.”
John Fletcher inclined his head, thankful that neither man could see his relief. He had not been as confident as he appeared.
“Tell my brother where his wife is,” Liam said, placing his hand on Rian’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. Another gesture from their childhood games, saying it was over, finished. John Fletcher gave them the address he knew Catherine had been taken to. “Who lives there?” Liam asked.
“Has your wife ever mentioned a man called Phillip Davenport?”
Rian looked at Liam, who shook his head slightly. “No, I’ve never heard the name mentioned.”
“He is your wife’s cousin, and the reason she was taken from you.”
“Come.” Rian stood up. “You will take me there.”
“But you have the location,” John protested. “There is no need for me to accompany you.” The last thing he wanted was to be trapped in a claustrophobic carriage with Rian Connor.
“Your presence will assure me that there is no trickery on your part,” Rian said, fixing John with an icy stare, “and you are going to tell me everything you know about this so-called cousin.”
Chapter 22
Lettie had been awake for most of the night, sick with worry over what was happening behind the locked door down the hall. She had heard Phillip go in twice now, the second visit lasting considerably longer than the first. Grace told her that he had been in the kitchen opening cupboards, and rummaging through drawers looking for something. He finally left carrying a pair of shears, and wearing a smile that Grace did not like. She thought it a good thing he did not know she had been spying on him from the scullery. Hearing the child’s words, Lettie knew her worst fear had come to pass. God had truly abandoned her, because Catherine was back inside the house.
This turn of events made Lettie decide to keep Grace with her during the night. It would be safer than letting the child sleep alone in the servants’ quarters on the topmost floor of the house. She had been touched by the child’s gratitude. Most of the other servants were now gone, and Grace was afraid to sleep by herself. In the short span of her life she had never slept alone, and so she gave not a second thought to climbing into the big bed. Lettie was thankful for the resilience that allowed the girl to sink into a deep, untroubled sleep.
All through the dark hours she stayed awake, listening for sounds of Phillip. She expected him to enter her room, gloating over Catherine’s return. Though she heard his heavy tread in the hallway, he did not stop or pause by her door. The house was unnervingly quiet and the silence filled Lettie with a fear she had never experienced before. Not even when Phillip was at his worst. This was the quiet of the grave. A deep, penetrating silence filled every space. A portent that something horrifying and terrible was about to happen.
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she must have dozed because when she opened her eyes, Grace was gone and Lettie was alone. Without thinking she pulled back the covers, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and carefully made her way to the door, where she pressed her ear against the paneling listening for sounds.
“How nice to see you getting around so well.” The sound of Phillip’s voice made Lettie’s insides churn. “I had been laboring under the assumption that you were confined to your bed. Apparently I was mistaken.”
Caught like a rabbit in a trap, Lettie turned her head to see her husband sitting on the small stool by her dressing table. How could she have not noticed he was there? It had been so long since he had visited her room for any reason, it never occurred to her to look for him. And now he knew her secret. She tried to be stoic, but the fear was too strong to hide, and her façade broke down. It seemed that Phillip’s maniacal outrage had damaged more than her leg. He had broken something inside her, twisting and bending it beyond repair.
Lettie stared at her husband, feeling an uncontrollable trembling course through her. Her palms were damp with perspiration as she clutched the neck of her nightgown, and her anxiety increased tenfold as she noticed the item Phillip now held in his hands. The small, black velvet pouch contained the few items of any value she had managed to hide from him. It was to be her means of starting anew when she was finally able to walk out of this room, and this house.
Phillip smiled slyly, holding the bag for her to see. The silken cord that pulled the neck closed was wound about his fingers as he let the small sack dangle in midair. “Does this appear familiar?” he asked, knowing full well that she would recognize it. “I believe it belongs to you.”
He pulled open the silken cord, carefully extracting the items from within, and placing them on her dresser. Her mother’s ring, a pair of ruby earrings, and a small diamond and sapphire brooch given to her by her father. Seeing them sparkle and shine, Lettie felt her heart sink. Any hope of escape was now dashed, and she let out a strangled sob.
“Did you really think I would allow you to leave me?” Phillip asked as he cruelly pocketed the means of her freedom before carefully smoothing out the empty bag.
Lettie did not answer him. Her throat had tightened, constricting her vocal cords. Terror marked every plane and hollow of her face as her husband stood, and held out his hand to her.
“Come dear, I have something I want to show you,” he said, beckoning to her with curled fingers. A lifetime of obedience made her place her hand in his.
Slowing his pace to match hers, Phillip took her through the door and down the hallway, coming to a stop at the room where Catherine was imprisoned. Removing a key from his waistcoat pocket, Phillip inserted it into the lock. The mechanism clicked loudly and Lettie jumped, her free hand covering her throat as the door was pushed open. Tightening his hand around her fingers, Phillip led his wife into the room.
Despite the morning hour the heavy drapes remained closed, making it difficult for Lettie to see in the gloom. There was nothing wrong with her nose however, and she wrinkled it in disgust as the odor of vomit reached her. A part of her brain suggested the room be subject to a good airing as soon as possible.
Catherine was awake and sitting on the edge of the bed, her upper body partially hidden in the shadows. She raised her head, staring with dull, lifeless eyes, and gave no sign that she recognized the small woman standing next to her jailer. Catherine’s expression was one Lettie imagined those sentenced to death must wear. It was a look of deep resignation that said their fate was sealed, with nothing to stay the drop from the hangman’s noose.
Unable to bear the bleak despair on Catherine’s face, Lettie glanced instead at the movement in her lap, watching her hands as they twisted restlessly. At first glance, Lettie thought it a skein of pale yarn that Catherine’s busy fingers nimbly smoothed and plaited together. It seemed oddly out of place given her surroundings, but then Catherine moved out of the shadows, so the candlelight illuminated her head and shoulders.
“Your hair!” Lettie cried out, realizing what Phillip had used the shears for. In a purely self-conscious movement, Catherine raised one hand and held it to the bare skin at the nape of her neck.
Taking advantage of her final dive into oblivion, Phillip had decided to teach his prisoner a lesson. Wrapping her long hair about his fist, he had simply chopped it off at the base of her skull, leaving it as a gift on her pillow. It was the spiteful act of a spoiled child, and now Catherine’s mouth twisted into a grim line as Phillip pulled his wife forward so she could better admire his handiwork.
“Not your fault, Lettie.” Her voice was a rusty croak, and it was plain to see how much even those few words pained Catherine to say.
“But your hair…your beautiful hair,” Lettie stamm
ered, recalling her envy at the cascading locks.
“Of little consequence.” Fighting to keep the tears from spilling over, Catherine held out the long braid and fixed Phillip with a stare before opening her fingers and allowing the mass of white blonde curls to fall to the floor. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it had hurt to discover he had cut off her beautiful hair. The hair that Rian so loved to run his fingers through. Catherine had never thought of herself as a vain person, but her hair had always been a source of quiet pride. And now it was gone. So much for vanity. “In time, it will grow back.”
“Oh Catherine! I am so s-sorry. I am so, so very s-s-sorry.”
Big gulping sobs racked the small woman’s frail body, and Catherine knew she was apologizing for much more than the pale braid at her feet.
As Phillip put his arm around his wife’s shoulders, turning her to go, he saw Catherine notice the unsteadiness of Lettie’s gait. “Punishment for helping you escape,” he said with a smirk. He looked down at the pale, trembling woman beside him, her cheeks wet with tears. Placing a finger beneath her chin, he raised her head so she had no choice but to look at him. “If she tries it again,” he said softly, his voice a gentle whisper that could just as easily be a promise of paradise, “I will kill her.”
Catherine did not need to see Lettie’s face to know her terror. She sensed that whatever strength this petite woman had found to help her before, it had been all she possessed. Despair washed through Catherine and she closed her eyes, but not before a single tear rolled down her cheek, landing with a splash on the back of her hand.
“Come, Lettie,” Phillip whispered.“Our dear Catherine has had a long journey finding her way back to us, but she is home now, and we must let her rest.”
One hand on her elbow, and the other wrapped about her shoulders, Phillip steered his wife out of the room, pausing only to relock the door. Back in her own bedroom, he solicitously helped her settle in the big bed, fluffing the pillows and arranging them comfortably behind her.
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