by M C Beaton
Afterwards, Betty fell immediately asleep, her long lashes fanned out over her cheeks. The Duke looked down at her in something like awe. He held all the world in his arms and because of his accursed pride, he had nearly let it escape him. He held her very close, kissing her sleeping face gently and stroking her tumbled hair back from her forehead until he, too, fell asleep.
Miss Fanny Bentley sat up in bed and let out a faint scream. "La! Mr. Beauly! Never say you are going to keep your breeches on?"
"No, no," gasped Mr. Beauly, looking wildly around the room. "I shall be with you in a trice, my love."
Mr. Beauly wondered what on earth to do. He was about to bed with the most beautiful creature he had ever met and he was terrified he would lose her if she found out he wore wooden calves inside his stockings.
Fanny was awaiting him impatiently. She had basked all evening in the glow of Mr. Beauly's adoration. He had asked for her hand in marriage. She had accepted. Perhaps somewhere there was a tiny black cloud in the corner of Fanny's brain called Sir Anthony Blake. But Fanny had been so hurt and humiliated by his letter that she was determined to fall in love with Mr. Beauly. Another little black cloud in the corner was her mother, screaming in wrath at the idea of her eldest throwing herself away on a mere farmer—and a tenant farmer of Collingham at that! She wanted Mr. Beauly to make love to her and as quickly as possible so that all tiny nagging worries and doubts might be banished.
She propped herself up against the pillows and, as she did so, the blankets fell back, revealing two perfect round breasts, slightly lemon-colored, as was the rest of Miss Fanny Bentley.
Mr. Beauly began to tremble with passion. He tore off his breeches and pulling off his stockings, wooden calves and all, he leaped on the bed and dived under the blankets and stuffed the whole lot quickly under her pillow and then covered her body eagerly with his own.
At one point during a period of most enjoyable lovemaking, Fanny could not help wondering why her pillow was so hard and lumpy. She must speak to Betty about it . . .
Miss Cecily Armitage walked softly over to the window of her room and gently opened the shutters. Sun glinted on the dew-washed grass and birds chirped from the rose bushes. It could almost be summer, she mused dreamily, if one did not look at the skeletal branches of the trees etched against a sky of pure cerulean. Then she turned and looked at the sleeping man on the bed.
How she loved him! She would do anything he asked her to. Anything.
The man on the bed stirred and she turned and looked at him, her plain face transfigured with love. She would not have believed that he had even noticed her. But he had come to her for help. He had said he loved her. She quailed at the thought of what he was asking her to do—but just for a moment. The great love she held for him made it all seem right, made anything seem right.
He gave a cavernous yawn and she walked over and stood looking down at him.
Peter de Brus suddenly opened his eyes and smiled at her. "I trust you remember your promise to help me," he said.
Chapter Nine
Bella wearily and slowly went downstairs about noon the following day. She was talking to herself, or rather talking to the ghosts of Lady Jane Lovelace and her old mistress, Lady Harriet Comfrey. In her mind, Bella was back at Number Ten Huggets Square when Jane was a frightened young girl dreaming of restoring her father's estates and Lady Harriet was coming out of her long mourning and planning to take the town by storm. "It ain't right to go racketing around at your age, my lady," grumbled Bella, talking to the ghost of Lady Comfrey, although she was really scolding herself.
She stopped her rambling at the sight of the small figures of James and Lucy, Simon's friends, sitting on the bottom step.
"Where's my lord?" demanded Bella. "Sun's shining and you children should be out of doors."
"Simon's gone to London with Miss Armitage and Mr. de Brus," said James. "We tried to speak to him but they wouldn't let us."
Bella almost doubled up as a spasm of fear seized her. Without a word, she turned and scrambled up the stairs as fast as she could and erupted into Betty's bedroom, stopping short and throwing her apron over her head to blot out the sight of the Duke and Betty entwined in each other's arms.
"Lord Westerby," wailed Bella from behind the apron. "He's gone!"
"Where? How?" said Betty, praying that nothing was wrong and that Simon had run off to play with his friends.
"Miss Armitage. Her and that de Brus. Took him off."
There was a shocked silence and then a sudden upheaval. "Did they say where they were going?" came the Duke's voice.
"No, Your Grace," said Bella, beginning to sob. "No, wait a bit. James said he had gone to London."
"If they're on the London road, I'll catch them. You can remove your apron, Bella," said the Duke. "I am quite respectable. Betty, my love, you will stay here and have all the servants scour the countryside, all the inns and posting houses. Bella, tell Mr. Beauly to be ready to assist me and tell Anderson to have my curricle brought round."
Bella, panting and gasping, ran to Mr. Beauly's bedchamber to find his bed empty and unslept in. She grabbed a passing footman. "Where's Mr. Beauly?"
The footman gave her a sly look. "Well, Miss Bella, if you were to take a look in Miss Fanny's bedchamber . . ."
"Sodom and Gomorrah!" cried Bella. "They've all gone mad."
She ran to Fanny's bedchamber and opened the door and threw her apron over her head before she could even have a glimpse of what was in Miss Fanny's bed, and shouted the Duke's message.
The whole of Eppington Chase was in an uproar, servants collided with each other, ans sleepy guests leaned over the banisters crying out, "What's amiss?"
Fanny Bentley dressed slowly after Mr. Beauly had left her. She sat down at her dressing table and began to brush her hair with long even strokes. Then she put the brush down and looked in the glass. "Mama," she said, "I vow if you are behind this child's disappearance, I shall kill you."
On the evening of the second day, after Simon's disappearance, the hunters returned one by one to Eppington Chase. Each brought the same story. There had been no sign of the missing boy or his abductors. Last to arrive was the Duke, grim-faced and tired.
Fanny, who had been sitting next to Betty, arose at his arrival. She was white and trembling. "Your Grace," she said bravely, "I have a suggestion to make. There is one place the boy might be—at Huggets Square."
"No," said the Duke. "He is not there. I'm sorry, Miss Bentley, but that was the first place I went to after reaching London. Your mother was outraged, to say the least, but she allowed me to search the place from cellar to attic."
Fanny burst into tears of relief. "I-I w-was so afraid Mother had run mad and done this terrible thing . . . had paid de Brus. Y-you thought of that as w-well?"
"I'm sorry but . . . yes, I did," said the Duke. "I have met many young men like de Brus and that kind will do nearly anything for money."
"Miss Armitage!" said Betty. "Surely it should be easy to find her."
"I have sent my servants all over London. My friends' servants have joined in the hunt as well. The abduction is in all the newspapers carrying a minute description of Lord Westerby. I have offered a handsome reward to anyone who can help us find him," said the Duke. "There is nothing we can do now but wait and pray."
The weather had broken and a bitter wind howled around the large mansion, setting the candle flames streaming sideways. Long shadows crept across the lawns.
The Duke drew Betty aside. "All is being done that can be done," he said. "We must be married very soon. I shall take care of you."
"How can we marry?" said Betty miserably. "We must wait and see if there is news of Simon."
"We will be married," said the Duke firmly. "Perhaps you are even now with child, my sweet. Failing to marry will not bring Simon back."
But Betty could only weep bitterly for the loss of the little Marquess, her one link with her beloved stepsister; Simon, second Marquess of Wes
terby, who might even that moment be lying dead.
Mrs. Bentley was feeling pleased with life. Frederica was shortly to be married to Lord Chuffield and so she could ignore that irritating other daughter, Fanny, who was still mysteriously resident at Eppington Chase.
Frederica's social success had somewhat mitigated Maria Bentley's burning hatred of the Westerby family. She could almost pity them! Hester gone the Lord knew where and Betty in seclusion in the country, still unwed.
She had had a portrait of the original owner of Number Ten Huggets Square, Lady Harriet Comfrey, removed and a handsome one of herself put in its place.
She sipped her hot chocolate, gave a little sigh of pleasure, and turned to the social columns.
At first she could not quite believe her eyes. Mrs. Bentley rummaged in a box beside her with a trembling hand until she found a magnifying glass. Holding it closely to the printed page she saw what she feared was all too true. An engagement was announced between Adolphus, tenth Duke of Collingham, and Lady Betty Lovelace.
A red mist seemed to float before her eyes. Those accursed Westerbys had stolen their lands and fortune back from her husband, then they had inherited Lady Harriet Comfrey's considerable fortune, and then Jane Lovelace by marriage to Lord Charles Welbourne had given them the Welbourne lands and fortune. Now, added to that, was one of the greatest fortunes in England—Collingham.
She was interrupted by the arrival of a footman with the morning post.
"Send Miss Armitage to me," said Mrs. Bentley, her voice thin and cold.
Almost desperately, she ferreted through the post, hoping for some outstanding social invitation to ease the fury of her soul. There was a letter from Fanny. Good! Perhaps she might at least hear first-hand how the Westerbys were suffering over the loss of Simon.
Fanny's letter was very short. She informed her mother that she was shortly to wed Mr. Beauly, a tenant farmer of the Duke of Collingham.
Miss Armitage, entering the room, shrank before the blazing venom in Mrs. Bentley's face. "The child is well?" asked Mrs. Bentley.
"Yes, very well, although a trifle pale and out of sorts in view of his long confinement. I feel, madam, that perhaps it would be as well, however, to return him to his family. I know you wished to give the Westerbys a fright and you have succeeded, but he is only a very little boy and I fear for his health . . ."
"Stop sniveling and find de Brus and send him to me. When did you see him last?"
Miss Armitage twisted her handkerchief in her hands. "Not since the day we . . . we . . . brought Lord Westerby here. He . . . he said he would return for me when it was all over but that it was not safe for him to be seen here."
Mrs. Bentley eyed the ex-governess narrowly. Miss Armitage had always been a colorless girl. Now she looked like a ghost, pale and trembling, her eyes perpetually bloodshot with weeping.
"Run along, then," snapped Mrs. Bentley. "You have complained these past three months that you have not been allowed from the house. Well, now is your opportunity. Go fetch de Brus."
"I do not know his direction," whispered Miss Armitage.
"Here." Mrs. Bentley scribbled an address on a piece of paper. She sanded it and handed it to the girl.
Mrs. Bentley could see hope beginning to dawn in Miss Armitage's eyes. "I shall give you a letter for de Brus," said Mrs. Bentley. "Tell him he must read it immediately. Now go and fetch your cloak and bonnet and when you return I shall have the letter ready. You had better wear your pattens because I wish you to go on foot."
Miss Armitage fled from the room. "Peter," she whispered. "Oh, Peter, I shall see you again and soon this nightmare will be over and we shall be free to marry."
As she hurriedly dressed, she remembered the glorious night when he had climbed in the window of her room, bleeding from a wound that that horrible Duke of Colling-ham had inflicted on him. Fancy, the Duke attacking an unarmed man! Peter had told her that he had originally accepted the post of tutor to the Westerbys because Mrs. Bentley had told him she would pay him a great deal of money if he would help her play a trick on them by abducting Simon.
Only his strong principles had stopped him, Peter had said. He did not, of course, explain to Miss Armitage that it was hope of wedding Lady Betty that had stayed his hand. Peter had begged her to help him and then he had made love to her and after that she would have done anything in the world for him.
Of course she had felt quite terrible when the Duke and his servants had come to Huggets Square to search the house and she had been forced to gag and bind Simon and put him in a small closet until they had gone. The boy had not cried once, only looked at her with those strange eyes, so like his mother's, filled with contempt.
She hurried back to the morning room, her face transfigured with hope. Miss Armitage felt convinced that as soon as she saw Peter again and felt his arms around her, everything would be all right. She curtsied and took the letter but as she reached the door of the morning room, Mrs. Bentley said gently, "Good-bye, Miss Armitage."
"Good-bye," echoed Miss Armitage, turning around and curtsying again. That small curved smile of Mrs. Bentley's contrasted oddly with her pale, glittering eyes and for one moment Miss Armitage felt a pang of pure fear.
But Peter was in front of her, Peter who would miraculously make everything all right again.
She hurried out into the gray morning. A gray drizzle was falling, turning the streets and pavements into morasses of sticky mud.
The address Mrs. Bentley had given her was in Soho Square. She made the journey there in a very short time since she negotiated the busy streets in a sort of half run, half scuttle.
The crowded tenement in Soho was not quite what she expected, but then, nothing had been what she expected these past few months.
At her request for Mr. de Brus, a slatternly woman removed a clay pipe from her mouth and pointed up the stairs. "Back top," she said and stoppered her mouth up with the pipe again.
Miss Armitage scratched timidly at the scabrous door of the "back top." There was no reply. She knocked harder and called, "Peter! It's me. Cecily."
A peephole in the door opened and one blue eye stared out at her. "You alone?" whispered Peter de Brus. "Didn't bring the duns with you?"
"No, of course not, Peter," laughed Miss Armitage. "Do let me in."
The door opened. Peter de Brus stood there, looking very much the worse for wear. He was unshaven and smelled strongly of yesterday's brandy.
Miss Armitage flung herself into his arms, but he pushed her roughly away and went back into the room. It was furnished only with an iron bed, two rickety chairs, a table and a chest of drawers.
"Sit down," said Peter, "and tell me what that old harridan wants."
Miss Armitage did as she was bid in a stunned kind of way. All those long dreary days and nights, she had been in love with a vision of a dashing and handsome Peter.
She silently handed him Mrs. Bentley's letter and he sat down on a chair and stared at it, turning it over in his hands without breaking the seal. Because he had refused to kill Simon, he had only been paid half the money Mrs. Bentley had promised him. But it had been a considerable sum and he had felt sure it would last him for quite some time. But an unlucky run at cards and dice had dissipated it in several weeks and now he was desperate and up to his ears in debt.
His head ached abominably. He broke the seal and crackled open the parchment. Mrs. Bentley never wasted words: "Get rid of the Armitage woman. Then the boy. I shall pay five times as much as before. M.B."
He crumpled up the letter and stared at the rotten floorboards beneath his feet. He was desperate for money. He had killed before, of course. There had been that young man with the fat purse in a lonely wayside inn; there had been that old merchant foolish enough to walk the City streets in the small hours of the morning without a guard. But a woman, and a small boy . . .
Miss Armitage had been watching him all the while. She thought he looked like a little lost boy, unshaven and tousled as he w
as, and her heart went out to him.
"What is it, Peter?" she asked shyly. "Not bad news, I hope?"
All in that second he made up his mind. "No," he said with a sudden smile. "All our troubles are over. Mrs. Bentley is going to pay me the rest of the money and I do not have to kill the boy. We can be married, my sweeting. Ah, look at me now. Not a pretty picture for my fiancee. Wait until I shave and we will go out and celebrate our happiness." '
"Oh, Peter!" Miss Armitage threw her arms around his neck and planted a wet and clumsy kiss on his mouth.
"We will have time for that latter," he said, unwinding her arms. "Sit down over there until I am cleaned and barbered."
Miss Armitage smiled at him adoringly and did as she was bid. She tried to talk to him while he shaved, to tell him of all the weeks of worry and fear and loneliness, but he motioned her to be silent.
"Pale, silly thing," he thought. "The world will not notice her going." Like many practiced seducers, Peter de Brus held women in contempt and when any of them fell deeply in love with him, it excited all the cruelty in his nature. Conscience fled before the idea of all that glittering money. This time he would keep it, would not make the same mistake again. It was a miracle he had escaped the Duke's searchers, but he had confined his gambling to the lower sorts of establishments outside the town.
He glanced out of the grimy window and then rubbed a corner of the pane with his sleeve. The rain had stopped and a thick gray mist was beginning to curl around the streets, threatening to blossom into a full-scale fog. He stripped and changed into his one remaining suit of unsoiled clothes. He had no powder or pomatum left, so he crammed a lace-edged tricorne down on top of his black curls and turned and held out his arm to Miss Armitage.
