by M C Beaton
“Bella!” she cried, striding down the stairs. “Where is your mistress?”
“In her bed, I suppose,” replied Bella, removing her enormous bonnet.
“Well, she’s not nowheres. I ha’n’t seen hide nor hair o’ her,” said Hetty.
The servants were called into the hall and cross-questioned, but only the chairmen knew the whereabouts of Lady Jane, and they said nothing. Footmen were sent running all over London. No one—except the silent chairmen—thought of the Westerby mansion.
Hetty finally returned to Bella. “What happened at that there affair at Osbornes,’” she demanded. “Who’d she spend the time with?”
Bella was by now thoroughly scared, and fright had addled her wits. At heart she was a deeply religious woman and knew that one had to pay for all one’s pleasures on this earth, and now God was punishing her for preening in the role of chaperon at the Osbornes’.
“S-Sir F-Felix Beaton,” she stammered. “My lady danced with him.”
“Right!” said Hetty. “Fetch my cloak and bonnet and ask for the carriage to be brought round, and find me the direction of Sir Felix.”
But Sir Felix, roused from his sleep by an angry Hetty, bleated that he had not seen Lady Jane since the party and that she had left without saying good-bye to him. He was patently telling the truth, and, besides, his modest lodgings were not large enough to conceal a small dwarf.
Hetty returned to Number Ten and to Bella. Bella cringed before her rain of questions. If Hetty had given the maid time to think, then Bella would surely have remembered Lord Charles Welbourne. But all she could babble out was, “Mrs. Bentley. Her was there, and looking hate.”
Lady Hetty went very cold. Those accursed Bentleys! She collected one of her late husband’s dueling pistols and loaded it with an expert hand, and then, summoning two of her most burly grooms, she set out for the Bentleys’.
That Mrs. Bentley was telling the truth only became evident to Hetty after she had held the pistol to that lady’s ear and threatened to pull the trigger. But, still hopeful, Hetty ordered her grooms to search the house from top to bottom.
No Jane.
Then Philadelphia, who was not in the slightest afraid of Hetty, said gently, “As I recall, Lord Charles Welbourne seemed much smitten with Jane.”
With a great swirl of skirts, Hetty said not a word but strode from the Bentley house with her grooms at her heels.
She ordered the coachman to drive her to Lord Charles Welbourne’s, sitting upright in the carriage in a ferment of anxiety.
But the sharp little Anderson had no news of his lordship. He was outraged when Hetty said she was going to search the house, and she had to bring out her pistol again to silence the little butler; his lordship’s other servants were too startled to mass an attack against the intruders.
No Lady Jane.
Hetty returned back to Number Ten and sent again for Bella. The poor maid was nearly beside herself with fear and anxiety. The minute Lady Hetty mentioned Lord Charles’s name, Bella nearly went to pieces.
“How could I forget him!” she cried. “The devil! It’s him for sure. He’s stolen my lady away. He was at the Osbornes,’ and he was atalking to her when I came up, and she whispered something to him and he looked mortal excited.”
Hetty sank down on the servants’ bench in the hall, her legs apart and the pistol dangling in the folds of her gown between her knees.
“I don’t know who’s to blame,” said Hetty wearily, “him or her. I don’t care if she’s lost her maidenhead, for old Hetty will get them both to the altar. Pray God that’s all it is.”
“How can you say so?” screamed Bella. “Sech a thing to say of my lady! Were it true, her’d be better off dead.”
“No one is better off dead,” said Hetty dryly. “Be off with you, Bella, and find me some tea. I will wait here.”
After an hour, tired out from worry and anxiety, Hetty’s head began to nod. There came a loud rapping at the street door, and she jerked her head up. With an overwhelming feeling of relief, she heard the light sound of Jane’s laughter and a man’s deep answering voice.
“Get it!” she said curtly to Sanders and, raising the pistol, pointed it straight at the door.
“Of course, my lady! Certainly, my lady,” babbled Sanders, thinking for the first time that he had been better off with old Lady Comfrey, for all her humors.
He swung open the door.
Lord Charles Welbourne entered with Jane on his arm. He stared for a long moment at Hetty and at the leveled pistol.
A slow smile crossed his face. “Do not put a ball in me, ma’am,” he said lazily. “I fear my beloved Jane would think little of a bridegroom with a hole in his head.”
Hetty let out a long sigh and put the pistol in her deep pannier pocket. She looked from Jane’s glowing face to Lord Charles’s smiling one.
“Come with me, my lord,” said Hetty in quite the grand manner. “There is the question of the settlements to be discussed.”
She picked up her skirts and marched toward the drawing room. Lord Charles kissed Jane’s hand and followed her. He had better get on good terms with Jane’s formidable stepmama as soon as possible!
The announcement of the forthcoming marriage between Lady Jane Lovelace and Lord Charles Welbourne caused mixed reactions in London society.
The couple’s newest friends, the Osbornes, were highly delighted, and Mr. Osborne presented them with the dinner service from Hanover which his lordship had so admired.
Sir Felix Beaton felt quite cross for a few minutes, and then decided that the role of brokenhearted lover was a good one. He could sigh romantically, at the same time shunning all women. He decided to send Jane a handsome present.
Mr. Braintree felt quite ill. He had never liked women anyway, and Lady Jane was a prime example of what an avaricious, grasping, greedy, sweaty, hairy race they all were. He tottered down St. James’s Street, hanging onto his tall cane and muttering, “Faugh!” and “Pooh!” over and over again, until he became aware he was being followed by a mimicking crowd of urchins, which he scattered with one sweep of his cane.
Philadephia Syms was quite upset with herself. She had been persuaded by Mrs. Bentley that the Bentleys had more social cachet than the eccentric Westerbys, and now the irritating Jane was to be wed to the biggest marital catch in society. Philadelphia decided to send Jane a handsome present. She had more or less decided to wed Sir Anthony, and it would not do to be at outs with Anthony’s best friend’s wife!
Mrs. Bentley experienced such rage she felt she would die from it. Her whole soul ached to possess the Chase. She still had a considerable amount of money, and she had watched Jane’s extravagant expenditure toward the rebuilding of the Chase with delight. She felt sure the girl would ruin herself and Hetty before long.
But now Jane had the Welbourne fortune. It seemed such a pity she should live long enough to enjoy all that wealth.
Sir Anthony felt strangely bereft. Although he and Lord Charles were in their thirties, he felt as if he had just seen his youth disappearing like golden mist before the hot sun. Lord Charles was his last remaining bachelor friend, and a very good one, so he had not missed all the others who had fallen into the parson’s mousetrap. He had Charles to hunt with, drink with, gamble with, and wench with. And now it was all over.
Then Sir Anthony thought of Philadelphia, and the sun rose on the horizon of his mind again. Things could be worse. Much worse. A marriage was surely the very thing to start Philadelphia thinking along those lines. He must persuade Lady Jane to invite her. For he had a sudden feeling that Jane might not.
Bella shook her head over the marriage. The couple had had no right to “enjoy themselves,” as she put it before they got to the altar.
Hetty was delighted. She crowed that she felt just like a regular society mother. Now she could concentrate her energies on her own girls. Why! At this rate, Sally could marry a duke!
When the news reached the village of Wes
terby, Mrs. Syms was thoroughly annoyed at her husband’s delighted reaction. She was also very, very annoyed with Philadelphia for having, so to speak, chosen the wrong camp—forgetting that she, Mrs. Syms, had encouraged her daughter in the choice, saying that Mrs. Bentley had ton and the Marchioness of Westerby none.
It seemed so unfair that plain little Jane Westerby should make such a match, while her own beauty of a daughter remained unwed.
Mrs. Campford told everyone darkly that of course Lady Jane had to get married and she was glad that Charles Welbourne was doing the decent thing, but, when pressed for further details, would only fold her lips in a thin line and try to look wise.
Mr. Plumb wanted to get in on the act and tried to decide on which role to adopt to impress his cronies at The Green Man. Should he hint that he had had her and rejected her? No, that would not do. Vicar would surely have him horsewhipped. Should he show signs of an undying passion? But he was already courting Widow Castle, and that attitude would not further his suit. At last he settled for straightforward bragging, recounting how he used to take tea with the Westerbys at the Chase, although everyone knew he had taken tea with the Westerbys when they hadn’t a penny to their name, and had never set foot inside the Chase except on public days, like the rest of them.
Miss Armitage tore up the letter she had written to Lady Hetty tendering her notice. It seemed as if respectability had finally come to the Westerbys. Sally was a hoyden and unteachable. But there was hope that she, Miss Armitage, could mold little Betty in her own genteel image.
And good posts were hard to find.
And so, in their different ways, they wished the happy couple good or ill, although it was all too evident that Lord Charles and Lady Jane cared not one whit what anyone thought of them.
Chapter Sixteen
And so they were married.
As they bowled away from the church, the bells rocked and wheeled in the steeple under a metallic blue sky. St. George’s, Hanover Square, had been crowded to capacity. Jane had invited the Bentleys, her happiness washing away every resentment and dislike. Sally and Betty performed their part of bridemaids well enough, although little Betty cried loudly all through the ceremony and Sally was considered to have too bold and roving an eye for one so young.
Sir Anthony made a magnificent brideman and, as far as the crowd outside the church was concerned, looked even finer than the bridegroom in his suit of white satin sewn with diamonds. He was beside himself with joy. Just before the ceremony, he had hinted marriage to Philadelphia, and she had hinted that she would accept him.
He could hardly perform his part in the ceremony, so eager was he for it to be over so that he could ask Mr. Syms for his daughter’s hand in marriage.
Hetty wailed and sobbed gustily through the whole ceremony, with Bella’s sniffles adding a sort of counterpoint. Bella was to follow Jane, after a few days, to Upperpark in Kent, Lord Welbourne’s country home.
Although Lord Charles’s parents were dead, his many relatives filled up the church. He was relieved to notice that Jane was too excited to take in the fact that she was being introduced at one point to the real Aunt Mary Wortley, a delicate little old lady who was singularly unlike Sir Anthony’s impersonation.
But now it was over, and Lord and Lady Charles sat in their coach, which was to take them home to Upperpark, which Jane had not yet seen. Hetty’s parting whisper to Lord Charles had been. “Don’t let her go back to the Chase nohow. It’s haunted.”
They were soon out in the countryside, where the late autumn trees still blazed red and gold and the hedgerows gleamed with berries, brambles, and hips and haws.
Jane felt a queer longing for the Chase. It seemed so odd to be traveling through the mellow countryside, going home to a house she did not know.
“Shall I like it?” she asked, thinking of Upper-park.
“I thought you already did,” grinned her lord, pulling her into his arms and beginning to kiss her with singleminded passion.
“Oh, my lord,” sighed Jane, “I did not mean that. I meant… oh, my lord.” And she promptly forgot what she had meant as his lips covered her own again.
After some time, he raised his head and said, “My name is Charles.”
“So?”
“Well, say it, my darling goose. You make me feel like a Turk, addressing me as ‘my lord’ the whole time.”
“Why not?” teased Jane. “You behave like one!”
“If you flirt with me,” he replied severely, “I shall be unable to restrain myself and I shall pleasure you in my brideclothes, which, though they cannot rival the magnificence of my friend Anthony’s, are very fine in their way.”
“I think Anthony is going to propose to Philadelphia,” said Jane thoughtfully.
“She is very beautiful,” he said. “So beautiful that I almost forgot she was a selfish little girl with an empty heart. Anthony is a fool.”
“You are too harsh,” said Jane. “I—I was perhaps too harsh to Philadelphia myself. She has been so pleasant over our marriage, and we were such good friends once, and it was she who contrived to get Lady Comfrey to invite me to London in the first place.”
“Which she is never tired of pointing out,” remarked his lordship caustically. “You really are seeing a rosy world, Jane. I think you went too far in asking the Bentleys. They really do hate you, you know.”
“I don’t think they do any more,” said Jane. “Mrs. Bentley has been extremely pleasant to Hetty, you know.”
“I do not like to hear the word Bentley on those lips,” he said, gathering her close again. “It spoils the shape of your mouth. See! I shall kiss it better.”
“No!” said Jane. “We are arriving at the Blue Boar. We must appear respectable.”
“But we are,” he mocked. “Very. We are married, after all.”
They shared a light meal while the horses were changed, gazing into each other’s eyes, hardly aware of what they ate or drank. When they left to continue on their journey, the inn servants crowded the courtyard to admire the couple’s wedding finery, my lord in pale pink satin frogged with gold and my lady in white lace with satin bows.
“I am sleepy,” murmured Jane after a few miles.
“Sleep, then, my love,” he said with a laugh. “For believe me, I shall allow you none at all this night.”
She fell instantly asleep, her head against the satin shoulder of his coat. He felt too elated and happy to sleep himself and contented himself instead with watching her heavy lashes lying on her cheeks. She had a face that reflected infinite moods, he thought. It was strange that beauty such as Philadelphia’s could quickly become uninteresting, whereas his wife’s strange beauty always seemed to reveal another facet to delight and entrance him.
He observed that they were crossing Hagger’s Heath, a bleak expanse of moorland. He noticed idly that the brace of pistols he always kept primed and ready were in a pocket in the upholstery on Jane’s side of the carriage. But the sun blazed down, and great fleecy clouds sent their shadows rolling across the moorland. A sparrowhawk hung on the wind, and small, round black ponds surrounded by stunted willows flashed like fire as the sun raced through the clouds. It seemed too bright and pleasant a prospect to harbor danger.
It was with stunned shock that he heard the harsh cry of “Stand and deliver!” He braced himself and threw his arm across Jane as the coach plunged to a halt.
Before he could reach across to the pistols, the door of the carriage on his side was wrenched open and a masked figure said, “Out, my lord!”
Jane was awake, her eyes wide with fear. As Lord Charles bent his head to climb down from the carriage, he blocked the highwayman’s view for one instant, and Jane seized the pistols from their pocket and swept her lace train round and over her hands to conceal them. She climbed out and stood beside her lord.
The masked man who had ordered them from the carriage stood facing them, covering them with a brace of pistols. The two grooms, the two outriders, and the coa
chman had been quickly marshaled at the side of the road by another masked man. It seemed incredible that so many servants had been taken by surprise, but then, even in these lawless times, no one expected highwaymen in the middle of a sunny day.
The highwayman facing Lord Charles stood strangely silent, his pistols leveled at his lordship’s head.
“Well, get on with it!” snapped Lord Charles. “I suppose you want our jewels.”
“Your life, my lord,” said the highwayman, his surprisingly cultured voice warning Lord Charles that here was no ordinary robber but something much more menacing.
Jane could not remember afterward how she did it. The pistols she held under her train suddenly seemed to have become fused to her hands, a very part of her body.
Her brain was ice-cold and clear. She shook free her train and, as the highwayman’s finger tightened on the trigger, she raised her pistols with one fluid motion and shot the highwayman through the head, and in the very next split second had swung her other hand and neatly put a ball through the heart of the second highwayman, who fell like a stone.
Lord Charles bent over the man who had just been about to kill him and ripped off his mask. Jane had shot away the top of his head, but what was left of the man’s face was recognizable, and Lord Charles gave a low whistle. “It’s young Jimmy Carruthers,” he said.
“Who is he?” asked Jane in a cold, crisp voice. She felt nothing for the men she had killed. That, she knew, would come later.
“He’s one of James Bentley’s victims. Bentley won his land and estates from him in the same way as he ruined your father. He was always a weak lad, but I can never remember him being vicious, and I would have said he would have done anything rather than take to the road. Let’s see t’other.”
The other dead man was quickly unmasked, but he proved to have the face of a common felon.
Lord Charles swung round to where Jane stood behind him, white-faced and calm. “Get in the coach,” he ordered. “I shall join you in a moment.”
Jane climbed into the coach and sat down gingerly on the seat. She felt that if she made a sudden movement she would break like glass. She sat staring straight ahead, sitting bolt upright, her face as white as her powdered hair, dimly aware of her husband’s angry voice as he berated his servants for not having their arms ready and primed.
