Lady Vengeance

by Melinda Hammond

  The viscount lunged at him and Elinor could only watch in horror as they grappled for the pistol wedged between them. A shot rang out and the two men ceased their struggle. The pistol fell to the ground with a clatter and the marquis pushed his opponent away before he himself staggered drunkenly against the wall. He leaned there, fighting for breath while a dark stain gradually spread over his waistcoat.

  Davenham turned to Elinor, holding his hand out to her as she knelt beside Margaret Thurleigh’s body.

  ‘Will you never do as you are told?’ he scolded her, but gently, his voice unsteady. ‘I wish to God you had gone back to the carriage, and not witnessed this.’

  ‘I know, I am sorry – you are not hurt?’ Her anxious eyes searched his face, then, reassured, she leaned against him, resting her head upon his shoulder.

  ‘And at Hart Chase – Elinor, is it true you gave Thurleigh the ruby to save my life?’

  ‘Yes.’ She spoke without lifting her head. ‘I wanted no more killing. I wanted my own wounds to heal.’

  Davenham held her close, but a slight movement caught his attention and he looked up in time to Lord Thurleigh sliding one hand into his pocket. With a smothered oath the viscount swung himself between Elinor and the marquis.

  Thurleigh gave a feeble laugh.

  ‘Have no fear, Davenham. I’ve no weapon hidden about me!’ He withdrew his clenched fist and held it out to Elinor. ‘Pray, madam, come closer.’

  Hesitantly, with Davenham at her side, Elinor approached the marquis. His breathing was laboured and his voice when he spoke was barely above a whisper.

  ‘This was part of your mother’s dowry.’ He dropped a velvet pouch into her hand.

  She tipped out the contents of the pouch and looked down at the jewel she was now holding. It was the ruby, re-set now as a pendant with a thin gold frame and threaded on a velvet ribbon.

  ‘Now it belongs to you – Daughter!’

  Elinor jumped back as if he had hit her, and he laughed at the revulsion in her face.

  ‘Aye, that’s a burden for you to carry through life, is it not? You will never be free of me now!’ Thurleigh gave a soft laugh, ending in a gasp of pain. ‘The final irony, my dear, is it not?’ He coughed, and with a last desperate effort came away from the wall, his hands reaching out for Elinor, who shrank away from him, but life had gone from the marquis. His eyes looked at her unseeingly for a brief moment before he crashed to the floor.

  Davenham put a supporting arm about Elinor’s shoulders, very much aware now of the approaching mob, for he could plainly hear their yells and screams, the breaking of glass as they found some window unshuttered. A pall of smoke hung just above the rooftops, casting an eerie gloom over the streets.

  ‘Come. We must leave here before we are caught up in the riot.’

  ‘But we can’t leave them!’ cried Elinor, her face pale in the half-light.

  The viscount looked around and beckoned to Lord Thurleigh’s servants, still hovering anxiously a few yards away.

  ‘Your master and mistress are dead. Take their bodies home. You have the carriage.’

  ‘Wait!’ Elinor knelt once again beside the body of Lady Thurleigh. Carefully she placed the ruby pendant about the dead woman’s neck. ‘There are too many memories with this stone. It would be best if it were buried with this unhappy woman.’

  She rose and walked with the viscount back to his coach, leaving Thurleigh’s men to their unpleasant task. As they walked away, some instinct caused Elinor to glance up at the windows of Leicester House. She caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman’s face at a first floor window. The next instant it was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  My Lord Davenham concludes the game.

  The viscount guided Elinor back to the carriage to find his servants anxiously awaiting his return and only too willing to set off for Hartworth House. The bishop was huddled fearfully in one corner and as the door was shut upon them he cried out in a shrill, querulous voice, ‘Damme, sir, but you took your time! I had given up all hope of seeing you again. Indeed, I would have driven on had your coachman been at all agreeable, but the dratted fellow refused to move until you was returned.’

  ‘Calm yourself, Furminger,’ the viscount’s voice was cold. ‘We were gone less than ten minutes.’

  Sitting quietly in her own corner, Elinor was surprised to hear his words: had only minutes passed since she followed the viscount into the side street? Events had moved so rapidly that she could not yet comprehend it all. They travelled quickly through the empty streets, only the bishop’s anxious remarks breaking the silence within the coach. His presence prevented any conversation between Davenham and Elinor, and she could not be sorry. For the moment her thoughts were in too much turmoil to be put into words. Furminger continued to grumble and peer anxiously out of the window, but the streets were deserted as news of the rioting spread and the only signs of life were the occasional ragged figures hurrying to join the mob, hoping to gain something from the looting that would inevitably occur. Davenham and Elinor maintained their silence, each lost in thought, until they reached the Haymarket, when a cry from the bishop caught their attention.

  ‘Ah, that’s more like it!’

  Elinor glanced across to see what had brought about this sudden change in tone, and observed Bishop Furminger sitting bolt upright, staring out of the carriage window. Sounds of marching feet could clearly be heard approaching and moments later a body of uniformed men filed past the carriage.

  ‘Now the army has been called out we shall soon have order restored.’ Davenham smiled at Elinor. ‘And in a very few moments from now you will be safe within my father’s house.’

  ‘But it is no thanks to you, sir!’ cried the bishop. ‘Tarrying so long with the mob almost upon us, I tell you, I had begun to fear for our lives.’

  The viscount gave a short laugh. ‘There’s only one life that interests you, Furminger, and that’s your own!’

  The carriage drew up outside Hartworth House and Davenham escorted Elinor inside, pausing only to order the waiting footmen to attend the bishop. They found both Lord and Lady Hartworth awaiting them and their appearance was greeted with great relief.

  ‘Thank Heaven you are safe!’ cried my lady, embracing Elinor and drawing her towards a sofa. ‘My dear child you look worn out. Come and sit here by the fire – let me take your cloak, child, then you can tell us everything. When we heard the mob were rampaging through the streets I was terrified lest you should be attacked.’

  Lord Davenham turned to the earl, saying urgently, ‘Before anything else sir, tell me – what news from the Palace? We heard on the streets…’

  ‘The King is safe. I went to St. James’s as soon as you had left the house this morning. As one of the Lords of the Bedchamber, Lord Thomas would naturally be attending him, so I dropped a word in several quarters and when Thomas realized he was under suspicion he soon broke down and confessed all he knew. It seems he allowed himself to become deeply in debt – mostly to Lord Thurleigh. He undertook to kill the King because Thurleigh promised to look after his family. The alternative was debtors prison, and his wife and children thrown penniless upon the streets.’

  ‘Poor devil!’ muttered Davenham.

  ‘As you say my son.’

  Lady Hartworth was bending over Elinor, coaxing her to drink a glass of wine, but at her husband’s words she looked up.

  ‘Whatever may happen to Lord Thomas, sir, can we not do something for his family?’

  ‘I shall see they are not destitute, my love. You have my word on that. But what of your business, Davenham? Did you see the bishop?’

  ‘We did. He agreed to speak against Thurleigh but so great was his fear of the marquis that I was obliged to bring him here for safe-keeping, although what has occurred since then …’ He paused. ‘Thurleigh is dead, sir.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Lady Hartworth sank down beside Elinor on the sofa, her hands pressed to her cheeks. The earl received the news with sl
ightly less astonishment, merely nodding and asking if the bishop might now retract his evidence.

  ‘Oh I don’t think he can do that, my lord. He has said too much. Of course he may try to lessen his role in the affair, but we still have the list that Julian Poyntz wrote out for Elinor. I think he must still confess.’

  ‘Good. Where is the bishop now?’

  ‘I’ve given orders that he should be put in a guest room and made comfortable there. I suggest you keep him there, sir. I’ve had as much of the fellow as I can stomach on the journey here!’

  ‘You said the marquis is dead, Jonathan.’ My lady looked puzzled. ‘How did you learn of this?’

  ‘I killed him, Mama.’

  The countess gave a faint shriek.

  ‘Go on, my son.’ The earl urged him.

  Davenham’s eyes went to Elinor, who was looking dazed and pale. With a visible effort she rose from the sofa and went up to him.

  ‘You must tell them. Everything.’

  ‘Are you sure, Elinor? There is no need –’

  ‘Yes there is. It must all be told.’ She pressed his hands and summoned up a small, tight smile before stepping back, then, with a murmured apology she picked up her cloak and left the room.

  Elinor made her way to the comfortable apartment that had been assigned to her. There she found her maid waiting to help her to change her dress. She dismissed the girl with an order to send Hannah upstairs, and when she was alone she carefully laid the cloak over the back of a chair before sitting herself before her mirror. She scarcely recognized the face that stared out at her, the features so pale and drawn: rather she saw the face of Margaret Thurleigh, and in her head rang the words that lady had screamed at her husband: She is your daughter – your daughter –

  ‘Mistress Nell, you sent for me?’ Hannah’s anxious voice broke in upon her. ‘When I heard that the mob were on the streets I could not rest until I knew you were safe.’

  The old woman broke off as Elinor turned from the mirror, in her eyes a look of such anguish that Hannah was obliged to smother a gasp of dismay. Covering her anxiety, she chided Elinor, as she would have done a child. ‘Oh, Miss Nell, now look at your muddied petticoats! We will have you out of them and into bed in a trice, never you fear, and I shall fetch you a nice hot brick for your feet, for it’s a good rest you need….’

  Elinor put up a hand.

  ‘Later, perhaps, but first we must talk.’ She rose and began to pace the room, trying to collect her thoughts. ‘Hannah, how long were you with my mother?’

  ‘Why, that’s a strange question, ma’am! To be sure I can remember as plain as anything. I became her personal maid just before her marriage to your sainted father.’

  ‘Then you were with her when I was born?’

  ‘But of course, Miss Nell. Haven’t I told you time and again that I used to rock you to sleep when you were a babe?’

  Elinor came to stand directly before her, taking her hands and looking into the older woman’s face with such an intense stare that Hannah shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘But were you present when I was born, Hannah?’

  ‘Miss Nell, I-’

  ‘Am I truly the child of Ambrose and Helena Burchard?’

  ‘Really, Madame, there’s a question to ask me!’ cried Hannah, turning away.

  ‘There is no one else to tell me, and I must know the truth.’

  There was a long silence that seemed to Elinor to press mockingly upon her. When at last the answer came she felt strangely at peace.

  ‘You were a foundling, Miss Nell. Brought to our door one night by a serving maid who had heard that the mistress had recently been brought to bed but had lost her own child within hours of its birth.’

  ‘What month was it?’

  ‘Why, November, Miss Nell. It was so very cold and the girl begged us to take you, saying that if we did not she would be obliged to put an end to you. The old master said it was a miracle, a gift from God he called you, and he himself carried you up the stairs to my lady’s room. She took to you at once, Miss Nell, for you were a dear little scrap.’ She looked appealingly at Elinor, ‘Pray, ma’am, don’t look like that. I swear they could not have loved you more, had you been of their own flesh!’

  ‘I know it, Hannah. I think I should like to be alone for a while. Will you send down my excuses? I shall not require dinner.’

  ‘But, Madame, we have not yet changed your dress.’ Hannah moved towards her, alarmed to see her green eyes bright with unshed tears.

  Elinor waved her away.

  ‘No. Please, just go.’

  Alone once more, Elinor sank down upon the nearest chair. She scarcely noticed her cloak thrown over the chairback, her mind trying to grasp all she had heard that day. Hannah’s story confirmed what Lady Thurleigh had said, but Elinor had never really doubted it. The likeness between them was too strong. What was it Lady Hartworth had said? The woman has the soul of a strumpet! She felt the tears welling up inside her. Such a woman then was her true mother. She could bear that – she thought that she could even bear to be the bastard child of one of the lady’s many lovers, it would be preferable to being Thurleigh’s daughter.

  A black despair settled upon her. She had been cursed from the start, bringing nothing but death and unhappiness to those around her. Elinor leaned back against the cloak and became aware of a solid object beneath its folds. She remembered then that she still had the knife with which she had threatened the bishop. Davenham had given it to her that very morning on their way to Islington. Sweet Heaven, it seemed a lifetime ago! She recalled that he had drawn her attention to the intricate craftsmanship of the leather and silver scabbard, and the delicate engraving of the family coat of arms upon the blade itself. He had translated the motto for her – Honour is all. Proud words for a proud family.

  Elinor was aware of an almost physical pain twisting within her: if she had truly been the daughter of Ambrose Burchard, then perhaps she might have been accepted by Lord and Lady Hartworth, despite her history, but a foundling had no place here. A bitter little laugh escaped her lips. What was she thinking of? She was no foundling – worse than that! Dear God, that she had never been born. Honour is all. The words came back to haunt her. Dashing a hand across her eyes, she reached into the pocket of her cloak and drew out the dagger.

  * * * *

  In the morning room, the viscount gave a full account of his meeting with the marquis. Lady Hartworth’s cheeks had grown quite white during the tale, and her eyes were wide with astonishment when her son disclosed Lady Thurleigh’s intervention. When he had finished, Davenham waited for a reaction from his audience. Lady Hartworth looked towards the earl.

  ‘Can such a story possibly be true?’

  ‘It would appear that Thurleigh did not doubt it.’

  ‘The poor child. Then she must be his heir!’

  ‘Only if she wishes to claim kinship,’ put in Davenham swiftly. Aware of his father’ scrutiny, he added, ‘Elinor and I are the only ones alive who heard Margaret Thurleigh’s confession, and if Elinor does not wish for the connection, I shall not force it upon her.’ He paused. ‘I intend to marry her, you know.’

  ‘I had guessed as much.’

  The countess stared at her husband. ‘You do not object?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ he replied. ‘The child was reared as the daughter of one of my oldest friends. I see no reason to think of her as anything other than that.’

  Two strides brought the viscount across the room to stand before his father. Taking the earl’s hand he bowed low over it, his lips just brushing the thin fingers in filial respect.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ His voice was unsteady, but there was no mistaking the glow of happiness in his blue eyes.

  ‘Well, ‘pon my word!’ exclaimed the countess, taking out her handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. ‘I fear this is all too much for me. Such a deal of events and surprises in one day.’

  ‘Do you mislike the match, Mama?’

 
; My lady waved one white hand.

  ‘No, no, I have grown very fond of the child, but to find that she is the daughter of….’ Her voice trailed off in a shudder of revulsion. The viscount moved over to the sofa and sat down beside his mother. Taking her hands in his own he looked at her, a slight frown darkening his eyes.

  ‘Mama, you cannot blame Elinor for an accident of birth. She was raised in a very different world from that of Guy Morellon, Marquis of Thurleigh. Also, I learned today that she saved my life. The night the marquis broke into Hart Chase, it seems she traded my life for the ruby. I doubt Elinor would ever have spoken of it, had not Thurleigh mentioned the matter.’ He hesitated before continuing slowly, ‘Elinor de Sange has become the most important person in my life, Mama, and if it causes a rift between us then I am sorry for it, but I mean to marry her, if she will have me.’

  ‘Oh my dear boy!’ Lady Hartworth clung to him, smiling tremulously as she tried to blink away the tears, ‘of course you must marry her, if that is what you want. But I pray you, allow me a little time to grow accustomed. It has all happened so suddenly.’

  ‘Of course, Mama! Elinor also will need time to recover from the events of the day. God knows what she must be thinking.’ He rose. ‘I must go to her. Pray excuse me, Mama – sir.’

  As he reached the door the sound of raised voices floated down from the half-landing, where Hannah Grisson was engaged in a heated altercation with the butler. Catching sight of Lord Davenham, she pushed past the servant and hung over the banister.

  ‘Oh, sir, pray come up at once. I fear my lady is dead!’

  The viscount flew across the hall and took the stairs two at a time.

  ‘She has locked her door, my lord!’ cried Hannah as he came up to her. ‘I knocked and called out to her, but she did not answer, and when I looked through the keyhole I swear I saw a dagger upon the floor!’