Royalist on the Run

by Helen Dickson

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something that will make the hatred you already feel for John deepen.’ A different quality had crept into her voice. Her face suddenly looked drawn, a mask of profound sadness settling on her features.

  Edward eyed her with concern. ‘I doubt that is possible.’

  ‘I think it is.’ Taking his hand, she drew him down on to a wooden bench. She sat facing him, still holding his hand, apprehensive. He was silent, watching her, waiting for her to continue, his eyes holding hers with an enquiring glance. ‘I—I am with child, Edward—your child.’ Lowering her eyes, she heard his quick intake of breath. Looking at him through half-closed lashes, she saw shock register on his face.

  ‘A child? Dear Lord, Arabella! Did you know this when you went back to him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then—if this is the truth, why did you not tell me before?’

  ‘Everything was against it. John knew—he could tell. He—he used it against me and to his own advantage. Since he is no longer able to father a child of his own, he...’

  ‘Wanted mine,’ Edward finished for her coldly, unable to believe the evil of the man Arabella was married to. ‘It would appear that both my children are desired as other men’s heirs. And you have suffered all this alone.’

  Arabella heard the concern in his voice. ‘John was determined. You already know what he would do if I refused to be a part of the charade. Ours has always been an unhappy, tortured marriage,’ she whispered, and once again there were tears in her eyes. ‘What will you do?’

  A preoccupied expression drew over his face, showing that his mind was working swiftly.

  It was very quiet in the park and the silence bit more keenly into Arabella’s nerves more than ever. ‘I have been honest with you, Edward. I have told you everything. It is now your decision entirely what you do. I have wronged you, I know, and for that I beg your forgiveness.’

  * * *

  Edward was horrified—horrified at what John Fairburn must have put her through to make her agree to his terms—which made him wonder at his own reaction. Where there should have been rage that she had been prepared to sacrifice one of his children to save the other, there was tenderness and sorrow, and he felt a surge of deep compassion as he saw how distraught she was. His love for her was deep and eternal, and all at once the jealousy and rancour he had experienced when she had returned to her husband seemed to dissolve.

  Thinking back to the day she told him she was returning to her husband, he had spoken the truth when he had told her that he feared for her. Behind Arabella’s determination to make him believe that what she was doing was right, he had seen fear in her eyes and the strain on her ashen face, and at one point he was sure he had seen tears glittering behind her lashes. But he had been so eaten up with his own sense of loss that he’d cast it from his mind.

  Now he saw the pain, the hollow, biting misery on her face. Drawing her to him once more, he put his arms around her to comfort her, to staunch her tears.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ she mumbled against his chest. She looked up at him. Her lovely face was ravaged. ‘I’m so sorry. Truly. I didn’t know what to do. Please don’t be angry with me. When I saw Stephen I knew I couldn’t go through with it—keeping it from you. It wasn’t right.’

  ‘No, Arabella, it wasn’t. Does Stephen know this?’

  ‘No. I wanted to tell you myself.’

  ‘You will not go back to Fairburn,’ he said quietly.

  ‘But—his threat...’

  ‘Means nothing. I intend to deal with him. The man has attacked me in the heart of my family. I cannot let it pass.’

  * * *

  When John returned home to find his wife had left him, he was beside himself with rage. If she thought she could leave him, she was mistaken. He had known he was playing a dangerous game when he had forced her to go back to him. It had required deviousness, arrogance and absolute determination to carry it out—whatever the consequences—and John possessed all those things, and more, to see it through. He had been smug over his triumph, believing her affair with Edward Grey was well and truly over.

  And now this.

  He seethed with anger. Arabella had behaved badly and deserved to be punished. She thought she could have it all, did she—her lover and her child? If she thought he would simply allow her to walk away, then she was mistaken. He spent a while savouring his anger and pondering the revenge he would take, the kind of revenge that helped him get through the days, thinking hard about Arabella and Edward Grey losing everything. It made his own pain feel much better.

  * * *

  With John’s threat to Dickon uppermost in Edward’s mind, he asked Arabella and Verity when he himself was absent not to let him out of their sight. They were careful at all times, entertaining the children indoors and not allowing them outside unless they were attended by one of them. It was unfortunate that when the sun came out the children managed to slip their guard and went out into the garden.

  Failing to locate the children in the house, looking out of the window and seeing they had disobeyed them, Arabella lost no time in hurrying outside. On reaching the garden she paused to take in the scene. Verity’s children had their backs to her and were staring at a stationary carriage in the road. She saw someone push the door open. A man standing at the side of the carriage reached down and lifted a small boy up and shoved him inside before getting in himself and closing the door.

  Arabella watched, her mind refusing to engage immediately with what was happening, unable to believe what she was seeing. ‘Dickon,’ she whispered, and louder, ‘Dickon.’

  Then she was shouting his name and, raising her skirts, went hurrying across the garden and out through the gate. She saw the carriage ahead of her. Again she frantically called Dickon’s name, running forward to try to stop the carriage, but it was useless, for it immediately sped off along the road and disappeared.

  She stopped, her face white and her whole body trembling. She had the awful sense that she was experiencing a nightmare. Gradually the fact became the horrible truth—Dickon had been abducted by her husband. She must get word to Edward.

  She hurried back to the house to find Verity at that moment receiving Edward and Stephen, and the children, terrified by what they had witnessed, were trying to tell them with breathless excitement that Dickon had been kidnapped. They all looked at her when she came rushing into the house. Seeing how distraught she was, Edward immediately strode towards her.

  ‘Arabella! Is it true? Has Dickon been abducted?’

  White and shaken and breathing hard, she reached out and gripped his arm. With raw terror in her voice, she said, ‘Edward, he’s gone. It’s John. It has to be. You must stop them. Go after them—before it’s too late.’

  Every muscle in Edward’s body went rigid and his face became hard in that particular way Arabella knew so well. His eyes were filled with a mixture of rage and apprehension and dread—dread that John’s abduction of Dickon had been well planned and that that by the time he caught up with them Dickon would be on a boat bound for England and Malcolm Lister.

  ‘So—at last he shows his hand,’ he uttered, his temper igniting fiercely. John Fairburn’s clear intention to abduct his son for reasons of nothing but personal revenge infuriated him. ‘How dare he make Dickon the instrument of his vengeance? I’ll go after them. Time is of the essence,’ he said, striding towards the door.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ said Stephen, hurrying after him.

  ‘And me,’ Gregory said. ‘I have to saddle my horse so you go ahead.’

  Arabella stood in the road and watched them ride off. Verity came to stand beside her.

  ‘They will find him, Arabella. If it is indeed your husband who has taken him, he can’t be too far ahead. If they are taking the road to Calais they will stop him.’

/>   Fear instilled itself into Arabella’s heart, fear and desperation. ‘What if they have taken a different road and they aren’t going to Calais at all? Knowing Edward would be sure to follow them, they might be taking him somewhere else. Oh, Verity,’ she cried, ready to weep with the uncertainty of it all, ‘they have to find him. It’s my fault he’s gone. I will never forgive myself if anything happens to him.’

  ‘That is not so,’ Verity said. ‘How can you conclude that? John Fairburn is the guilty one—not you. He is the one who ought to suffer—and he will, you can be sure of that, when Edward finds him.’

  Not until Edward had disappeared from sight did Arabella go back into the house, knowing she would know no peace until they brought Dickon home.

  Chapter Ten

  That had been almost two days ago. Accompanied by Stephen and Gregory, Edward had begun the hunt at once. Having made a wide sweep of the roads leading out of Paris and finding nothing, Edward’s grief and fury over his failure to locate his son had not abated when he returned to the house.

  His thunderous frown drew his thick black eyebrows into a single line as he battled with his dilemma. Now it was dark and the trail was cold.

  Arabella went to him. ‘Have you found anything?’

  Edward reached out and took her in his arms. ‘Nothing. Who knows what that devil has done with him, or into whose hands he has placed him.’

  ‘I pray he does not reach England—and Malcolm Lister. If you value your life, you will be unable to go after him.’

  ‘It will do him no good if that is what he intends.’

  She tilted her head and looked at him. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because, my love, what John Fairburn does not know—what I only found out myself yesterday when I received a letter from a close friend in England—is that Malcolm Lister is dead.’

  Arabella stared at him in disbelief. ‘Dead? But—how...?’

  ‘It happened when he was trying to find me after I escaped—a fall from his horse, apparently. He lived only long enough to be taken to his home. So you see, my love, there is no need for you to worry.’

  ‘But John doesn’t know that—and when he does find out he will do something else to hurt you. He is evil and I think he would do anything to take revenge for my leaving him.’

  * * *

  Stephen returned from making his own enquiries with one vital piece of information. His expression was positive and he spoke sharply.

  ‘Fairburn is still in Paris.’

  Edward straightened his shoulders and came to savage, frightening life. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He’s a gambler. He was seen by an acquaintance of mine—also a gambler—playing at the Three Moons Tavern.’

  Edward stared at him in confusion. ‘What is the blackguard playing at? And where is this tavern, pray?’

  ‘Towards the river.’

  The expression on Edward’s face was so menacing Arabella stepped out of his way as he went striding to the door, watching in appalled silence as his hand went to his sword hilt.

  ‘Edward,’ Arabella cried, quickly going to him with a beseeching expression on her face. ‘Please—I beg you to have a care. John is dangerous. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.’

  He paused and looked down at her. Through all the pain of losing his son, he was beginning to understand fully the wonderful thing that had happened to him on finding Arabella. He touched her face with his lips, as though trying to convince himself that she was real. To lose her again would be an appalling devastation too dreadful to contemplate. Arabella stirred his heart, his body and his blood to passion, to a love he could not have envisaged. He could not face a world without her in it, without her humour and fearless courage and angry defiance, that passion he had experienced in her arms, her lips smiling at him, her amber eyes challenging him, the compassion, love and understanding she had for his son.

  ‘Never fear, my love. I’ll take care. The thought that something dreadful has happened to my son is torturing me. If it’s the last thing I do I shall punish the man responsible.’ He turned to Stephen. Edward was a man with a mission, knowing he needed to keep in complete control for what lay ahead. ‘If he thinks he can escape me, I’ll run him through. In fact, I may do that anyway—although to die by the sword is too good for him.’

  In an agony of torment, Arabella watched him go for the second time. He was filled with rage, but no matter how distraught he was over Dickon’s abduction, she knew he was in command of his actions.

  * * *

  When Gregory arrived at the house shortly after Edward’s departure, she donned her cloak in a state of agitation.

  ‘Edward and Stephen have gone to the Three Moons Tavern,’ she told Gregory when he asked.

  ‘I know where it is.’

  ‘Good, then you can take me with you.’

  He stared at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘No, Arabella, I will not. You have no idea what awaits you in the Paris streets after dark. It is too dangerous and Edward will be furious.’

  She lifted her head, her chin set at a mutinous angle. ‘I do insist, Gregory. If you don’t take me, then I shall make my own way there. I am sure someone will tell me where it is.’

  * * *

  The hour was late. At this time of night gaming houses flourished all over Paris and the Three Moons Tavern, an odious establishment, was no exception. Ignoring the vagabonds and beggars and cripples that lurked in the recesses and dark alleyways close to the Seine, rolling its way along with its endless traffic of boats and barges, Edward stood in the darkness, peering through the window’s thick glass, indifferent to the rain water dripping down on him from the roof. He could see it was a busy night. The men who made up the patronage of the tavern—gentlemen, clerics, ordinary citizens and monks, French and English—came here for the drink and above all for the dice and cards. When in drink some became rowdy and were thrown out into the street.

  His eyes casually yet thoroughly swept the dimly lit, low-ceilinged room for John Fairburn. At the sight of him he felt ice-cold anger settle in his chest, then spread to every part of his body. He sat at a table with three other men across the dimly lit room. They were engrossed in a game of cards. Others leaned against the wall, watching the play. Women in provocative dress flitted among the tables. They were hired to serve and entertain the patrons and encourage them to spend money on food and drink, but most of all to gamble, for it was true that the more the patrons spent on liquor, the more recklessly they gambled.

  Waiting for Stephen, who was taking care of the horses, Edward continued to gaze attentively at his prey for several minutes.

  ‘Any sign of him?’

  Edward turned round to see Stephen, then gestured with his head. Stephen peered inside. ‘That’s him. Shall we go in?’

  Pushing the door open, they stood on the threshold. The fog of smoke from the badly drawing fire caught in their throats. It was the kind of establishment Edward would never have entered had it not been forced on him by circumstance.

  The room was crowded with patrons sitting at tables. Some conversed in low tones as they gambled away their money, while others sat drinking in silence. Entering the room and closing the door behind them, they mingled easily with those standing, pausing and pretending to watch the games in progress so as not to draw attention to themselves, whilst scrutinising John Fairburn and the game of cards he was playing.

  Eventually they came to where John Fairburn sat. He had his back to them so he did not see them approach, and everyone else was so taken up with the play that they paid them no attention. The more John Fairburn drank the more risks he took and, unlike others who lost heavily when their heads were fogged with liquor, the more he won.

  Edward shook his head to a woman with a proffered ale, all his attention on John F
airburn. He seemed well satisfied with his successful night with the cards. If his winnings were anything to go by the stakes had run high and heavy and the odds had been in his favour. His partners stood up to leave. One of them turned away, but the other, a surly-looking individual with his face set in grim lines, paused to look down at John Fairburn. He had lost a great deal of coin tonight, most of it going into Fairburn’s pocket. Suspecting Fairburn of cheating, but reluctant to confront him in case he made a fool of himself, with a murderous glint in his eyes he turned away and followed his companion.

  John Fairburn was about to rise from the table when he became aware of someone standing behind him. He half-turned, probably expecting it to be someone wanting a game, but instead he met the level gaze of Stephen Charman. His gaze went past him to his companion. Not a muscle moved in his thin face, but his eyes narrowed and became brittle.

  ‘Stephen! I am surprised to see you here. I do not recall you being a gambling man. And Sir Edward Grey. To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you here to play? If you are, I would be happy to accommodate you.’ He picked his winnings from his last game off the table and shoved the notes inside his jacket.

  ‘I think you know why we are here,’ Edward said coldly, fighting to keep his anger under control.

  John’s eyes narrowed and began to glitter dangerously. His smile was unpleasant. ‘So, you have run me to earth, Sir Edward. I applaud your work.’

  Edward looked at him, his face grim, his eyes glittering like steel flints in the dim light. ‘It wasn’t difficult. Your habits are well known,’ he said with bitter sarcasm. ‘Because of the crime you have committed against me, Fairburn, and because Arabella has suffered and learned a harsh lesson of what to expect from a black-hearted villain like yourself—I have every reason in the world to kill you. But since my son is still missing, I will let you live until you have told me what you have done with him.’

  Edward’s words were savage and taunting, causing John Fairburn’s eyes to glitter with unconcealed hatred. ‘Damn you, Grey,’ he rasped. ‘You take my wife and impregnate her with your seed and expect me to ignore it.’