Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3)

by Rosemary Morris

  A comical look of dismay on his face, Sir Percival let go of Harriet’s hands. He stood to one side of her, while Lady Loxbeare walked slowly towards them. “Cousin Castleton, welcome to the family?”

  “Thank you, I cannot find the words to express how delighted I am to meet you.” Harriet’s sensibilities threatened to overcome her, so she dabbed tears away from her eyes with her handkerchief, a mere wisp of cambric. “I…I am certain my father would have been delighted to be reunited with our family.”

  Dominic crossed the room and stood next to her.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, “How remiss of me. Sir Percival, Lady Loxbeare, may I introduce my betrothed, Mister Markham, rector of St Michael and All Saints in Hertfordshire?

  “Markham,” mused Lady Loxbeare. “Are you related to the Earl of Faucon?”

  Dominic bowed. “I have the honour of being his younger son.”

  Her ladyship smiled. “We must congratulate both of you.”

  “Indeed,” Sir Percival added to his wife’s felicitation. “May you have a long, happy marriage blessed by children. I hope you will invite us to the wedding. Have you chosen the date?”

  “Not yet,” Harriet answered, before her betrothed could mention the special license.

  “Shall we be seated?” Dominic suggested. “And maybe some wine to celebrate … should I say … the prodigal daughter’s return to the …um…bosom of her family?”

  Sir Percival chuckled. “Surely not a prodigal daughter, I cannot imagine my cousin has anything in her past with which I should reproach her.”

  Lady Loxbeare glanced reprovingly at her genial spouse. “A glass of ratafia would be most welcome” She sat on a sofa and patted the seat. “Will you sit next to me Cousin Castleton?”

  “With pleasure.” Harriet stepped across the carpet and sat down.

  “Good, now we may be at ease.” Lady Loxbeare smiled at her and patted her hand. “You must not be overwhelmed either by meeting us or by your inheritance from your grandmother. The late Lady Loxbeare was a loyal wife, nevertheless, on her deathbed, she expressed her disapproval of your grandfather’s harsh decision to disown your father. I loved her dearly, for she was the most gracious, kindest lady imaginable, and I know she would have been delighted to meet you.”

  Harriet swallowed the lump in her throat, glad to be spared the necessity of speaking while Mister Markham handed her ladyship a glass of wine.

  “May we meet your son?” Sir Percival asked.

  “Of course, I shall fetch him.” Harriet responded, looking forward to entering the day’s unexpected event in her journal.

  * * *

  Light-hearted, looking forward to meeting more members of her family, Harriet entered the Arthur’s bedchamber. Horrified, she stared down at Bessie.

  The nurse lay motionless on the floor, blood seeping from an ugly wound on her left temple, a fire iron, with which she must have tried to defend herself, clutched in her right hand.

  “Arthur, where are you?” Harriet screamed.

  She must find her precious son.

  Thoughts whirled in her head. Bessie knew who struck the blow, and who abducted, Arthur.

  Harriet knelt by Bessie and sought for a pulse in her wrist. Thank God, the young woman lived! She must send for a doctor to treat her. She hoped, that, in spite of her injury, Bessie would soon recover consciousness.

  Almost paralysed by fear for her son, who had obviously been kidnapped. Harriet struggled to stand. When she managed to, her legs shaking with shock, for several moments, she leaned across the wall fearful she might faint.

  When Prince’s girth was loosened Arthur could have died and now-. A scream escaped her. No time to lose! She must find Arthur. A sudden burst of energy enabled her to run to the door. Almost out of her senses with fear, Harriet burst through the door into the parlour.

  Three pairs of startled eyes stared at her.

  In a second, Dominic reached her side. “What has happened?” The expression in his eyes sharpened. “You went to fetch Arthur. Where is he?”

  Harriet gripped his arm. “Arthur has disappeared. Bessie has been wounded. She is unconscious.”

  “Disappeared?” Sir Percival echoed. “Surely not!” he exclaimed. “Such things only occur on stage, not at a respectable hotel such as Mivart’s.”

  “Be quiet,” Lady Loxbeare ordered her husband. “Mister Markham, some brandy for my Cousin Castleton. It is obvious she suffered a severe shock.”

  Her ladyship guided Harriet to the sofa. “Please sit down, my lady.”

  “No, I must find Arthur. Bessie needs a doctor. Oh, I saw dreadful injuries in the Peninsular but I never expected to witness such a sight in my son’s bedroom. I thought he would be safe here.” Harriet knew she should be calm, so she gulped the brandy Mister Markham gave her, but the fiery drink did not prevent her trembling.

  “Deuced odd sort of a bedchamber.” Sir Percival stood and gazed down at her. “Who is Bessie?”

  “M…my son’s nurse. She has a wound on her head where someone struck her.”

  “Why should anyone do so?” Sir Percival asked.

  “Explanations would take too long. It is sufficient to explain a previous attempt was made on the boy’s life.” Dominic put a hand on Harriet’s shoulder, and squeezed it gently. “Please trust me to do my utmost to return Arthur to you in the best of health.” He glanced at Lady Loxbeare. “Be kind enough to take care of Lady Castleton while I investigate.”

  “I must accompany you,” Harriet protested in a broken voice.

  He shook his head. “No, you might be a hindrance.”

  Alertness replaced the lazy, good humour in the Sir Percival’s eyes. “What can I do to help?”

  “Are you handy with your fists?” Dominic asked.

  “Yes.” The baronet puffed his chest forward. “I have worn the gloves and sparred with Gentleman Jackson at his school in Bond Street and – “

  “Lud,” his wife interrupted, “At such a time, Mister Markham does not need a list of your credentials.”

  Dominic inclined his head towards Lady Loxbeare and beckoned to Sir Percival. “Good. Come with me. A servant or a guest might have noticed who took the boy. While you make enquiries, I must inform Mivart that Arthur has been abducted.”

  On their way to the spacious hall on the ground floor, Dominic gave Sir Percival a succinct account of the attempt to murder Arthur. “I have employed Bow Street Runners, who I hope will have apprehended the culprit, rescued Lord Castleton and taken him to a safe place.”

  “So do I. My utmost sympathy is with my cousin. I would kill anyone who threatened my children.”

  Dominic looked at him appreciatively, seeing beyond the figure of a good-humoured, fashionably dressed gentleman.

  He strode alone into the street, where his vulgar, piercing whistle and waving arms secured a hackney. After Dominic’s brief instruction, and a promise of double the usual feet, the driver urged his horse on with blatant disregard for pedestrians, stray dogs and other vehicles. Upon his arrival in the square, Dominic jumped down from the hackney. “A servant will pay you for bringing me here so quickly,” he called to the driver, while he rushed up the steps to his parents’ house with fear as his companion - fear that he failed to protect Arthur. Dear God, let the child be safe. His mother has endured so much suffering. Don’t allow more to be added to it, he prayed, silently.

  He rapped the dragon’s head knocker on the otherwise demure front door painted black.

  Hobbs opened it.

  Dominic raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes, sir,” Hobbs commenced, in reply to Dominic’s unspoken question. “Two Bow Street Runners have arrived. They are in the servants’ dining room. Even now, Cook is providing them with refreshment.”

  “Send them to me.”

  “May I suggest you come to the drawing room before I do so?” Hobbs led Dominic up the stairs to the drawing room.

  Dominic frowned. Confound the under-butler’s sense of the dra
matic.

  * * *

  For a moment, like a forlorn child, deprived of her only refuge Harriet stared at the door through which Mister Markham departed with her cousin. Thoughts raced through her mind. Only Bessie, who must be attended to, could tell her who struck the vicious blow and kidnapped Arthur. She wanted to scream, to smash the simpering figurine of a milkmaid on the mantelpiece, and to vent her rage on God, who allowed this horrendous occurrence.

  Harriet stalked up and down the room, her muslin skirt and petticoat swirling. Her fury increased until she gasped for air. For the first time she experienced all-devouring hatred. She wanted to kill the person responsible for the crimes. If the unthinkable happened. If Arthur suffered an unlawful death, she would kill the murderer, even if it resulted her trial and sentence of death.

  Harriet forced herself to take deep breaths. To give way to hysteria would accomplish nothing.

  “Some more brandy to steady you?” Lady Loxbeare suggested.

  Harriet shook her head. Strong drink would not help her to save her son. Which of her father-in-law’s relatives were responsible? One by one, their faces appeared in her mind’s eye. Which abominable, well-educated, stylish lady or gentleman first made an attempt on Arthur’s life and then abducted him?

  Unable to sit still, hands on the arm of the chair, she pushed herself to her feet. Immediately, Lady Loxbeare came to her side, and put an arm around her waist to calm her.

  Harriet dragged in another deep breath. “You may release me. I will not lose consciousness.”

  Her ladyship removed her arm. Harriet stepped towards the door.

  “Where are you going?” Lady Loxbeare’s asked, her troubled face expressing her concern.

  “To the nursery, to see if Bessie has come to her senses.”

  Plymouth rushed into the room without permission, her cheeks blanched of colour. “Oh, my lady, I’ve been told Lord Castleton, God bless him, is…is missing.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Harriet stared at her abigail. “Who told you?”

  “Sir Percival questioned me. He’s interrogating everyone. Who could have done such a dreadful thing?”

  “That, is what we would like to know,” Lady Loxbeare commented, drily.

  Plymouth wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “And poor, poor Bessie, knocked out of her wits. What am I thinking of, Lady Castleton? I should have brought your smelling salts.”

  “I don’t need them.” Harriet spoke in a hard voice, which seemed to be drawn draw from the depths of her being. She turned to her cousin. “Lady Loxbeare, I am sure you wish yourself elsewhere. Please don’t feel obliged to accompany me to the nursery. Plymouth will attend to my needs.”

  Lady Loxbeare embraced her. “There, there, although I am sure your woman seems to be an excellent servant, I insist on helping you. After all, Cousin Castleton, what is the use of your family if it cannot help you?”

  Her ladyship’s kindness almost released a flood of tears. However, Harriet’s years in the Peninsular, and the turmoil she had faced, taught her how to command her sensibilities. “Thank you,” she murmured, with genuine gratitude.

  With Lady Loxbeare and Plymouth, Harriet entered Arthur’s well-appointed room, where his toy soldiers lay tumbled on the carpet, and a man, knelt by Bessie, examining the wound on her head. At the sound of the door opening and closing, he looked up. “Ah, Doctor Jaimeson at your service.” He indicated his black bag, “I was about to leave Mivart’s after attending a patient, when a gentleman introduced himself. Sir Percival had noticed my black bag. He realised I’m a doctor and asked me to examine this poor woman.”

  Doctor Jamieson stood, his neat figure encased in a sober dark brown coat and pantaloons, reassuring. His eyebrows raised, he looked at each of them in turn. “May, I have the honour of knowing whom I address?”

  “I am Lady Castleton. The lady beside me is Lady Loxbeare.” Harriet indicated, Plymouth with a wave of her hand. “The servant is my abigail. “No, no, Doctor,” she continued, when he opened his mouth to speak, “please don’t waste time bowing and exchanging civilities. When do you think Bessie will recover her wits?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t say. My patient is fortunate to have survived such a brutal blow to the head. I must warn you she may remain in this state for the rest of her life. On the other hand, if she wakes, she might have lost her memory. If she is fortunate neither possibility will arise.”

  “Is there nothing you can do to help her?” Harriet managed to ask, shocked by his diagnosis.

  “I fear not, other than to see her into bed, attend to her wound, and bandage her head; after which my patient must be kept warm and comfortable. If you wish, I can recommend a nurse.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pitiable was the only word to describe unfortunate Bessie’s condition. Harriet sank onto a chair.

  The doctor bowed. “Lady Castleton, I’ll visit my patient later in the day to see if there’s any improvement in her condition.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Dominic entered the drawing room in his parents’ London house. Amazed by the sight of his father lying down on the Axminster carpet opposite Arthur, he came to a halt.

  Arthur advanced two toy soldiers and knocked down the pair opposite them. “We won!”

  “So you did,” Joshua agreed.

  Thank God! Arthur is safe. I shall send for Lady Castleton without delay. Why is Father here with the child?

  “Yes, we won,” Dominic murmured, his voice husky. “We won.” he repeated in a louder voice. He glanced at his father. “What brings you to town, Papa.”

  Joshua laughed and patted Arthur’s head. “It seems I came to entertain this young gentleman, who tells me he is Lord Castleton.”

  “Yes, he is, Papa.”

  Joshua stood with the agility of a much younger gentleman and tugged the bell rope. “Time for my small friend to put his toy soldiers back into his pockets.”

  Hobbs must have been close by, for he answered the summons almost immediately. “You rang, my lord?”

  “Yes.” Joshua indicated Arthur with a languid wave of his hand. “Consign Lord Castleton to the housekeeper’s care, he needs to wash the tearstains from his face before he has something to eat.”

  The door closed behind Arthur and Hobbs.

  Joshua sat down. “Some urgent business brought me to town, and, God bless her, your mother insisted on accompanying me.

  “After breakfast, she went to shop at the Royal Exchange.” He frowned. “Nothing prepared me for the commotion, which erupted soon after she left. The noise made by a hysterical child, no less than three Bow Street Runners and another person, whom I do not know, is beyond my powers of description. Well.” Joshua sighed. “Lord Castleton needed urgent attention, so I instructed Hobbs to deal with the runners and the other individual, before I set about pacifying the boy. After he pulled his toy soldiers out of his pocket for comfort, we made friends.”

  His nostrils pinched, Papa regarded him with obvious disapproval. “Hobbs told me he received certain orders from you. Explain yourself, Dominic.”

  “Yes, I will, after I send a message to Lady Castleton at Mivart’s Hotel to inform her Arthur is safe in your house.”

  “Safe! What do you mean? Why should he not be? Oh the boy told me a garbled tale; and a Runner, who said the three of them came here with Lord Castleton at your command, refused to tell me why.”

  “I shall explain after I send the note to Lady Castleton, and have spoken to the Bow Street Runners.”

  Aware of his father’s displeasure, Dominic hurried out of the room like a guilty schoolboy.

  * * *

  In response to frenzied knocks on the front door, which Hobbs opened, Dominic hurried into the reception hall.

  Harriet, a straw hat, secured with a flimsy scarf tied under the chin, her pale pink morning gown dampened by drizzle, cast herself into Dominic’s arms. “Arthur! Where is he? Where is my precious child? How can I ever thank
you sufficiently for saving him for the second time?”

  His disheveled betrothed peered up at him, her eyes tear-drenched.

  Regardless of the under-butler and a footman’s interested stares, her face pressed against his chest Dominic held Harriet’s tense body closet. “Your son is with my mother in the nursery.”

  “Who kidnapped him?” she demanded, her voice iron-hard.

  “Come, I shall show you, before I take you to Arthur.”

  “No, first I must see Arthur.”

  Joshua, whom Dominic had not noticed when he joined them, spoke. “If you would be so good enough to release the lady, I shall accompany you.” He inclined his head towards her. “Lady Castleton, I cannot imagine what you must think of his deplorable breach of etiquette. You must not think he was brought up to do so.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say, my lord,” Harriet faltered.

  Unable to interpret the expression in his father’s eyes, with reluctance, Dominic disengaged himself from Lady Castleton. From his pocket, he removed a linen handkerchief with which he wiped away her tears. Smiling tenderly at her, he removed her limp leghorn hat and handed it to Hobbs.

  “Where is Arthur?” Harriet demanded, in a high pitched voice.

  “Calm yourself,” Joshua drawled, “your son is safe.”

  Followed by his father, Dominic led her up three flights of stairs to the nursery, where Morwenna put her finger to her lips.

  Her face unnaturally pale, Harriet looked around the room. “Where is my son?”

  “Shush.” Morwenna pointed to a partially open door. “He is asleep in the night nursery.

  Harriet rushed to Arthur, who slept on a small bed, his hand coiled around a toy soldier. She bent to kiss his cheek and smooth his hair back from his forehead. “He is unharmed?” she whispered.

  “Yes.” Dominic imagined both her anguish when Arthur was kidnapped and her overwhelming relief now he was safe.