That had been interesting. Penworth’s own residence must be in a sorry state if he had to stay with his wife’s connections. Or perhaps the luxury of Grosvenor Square was too irresistible.
More importantly, from Craddock’s point of view, Grosvenor Square was just down the road from Mivart’s on Brook Street. A pleasant stroll. He was able to examine at leisure the various ways of entrance and egress. He even managed to chat with a few of Greystone’s unsuspicious servants. Who would be suspicious of a respectable gentleman out for a stroll?
When they all left, presumably to set a trap for him, he had been sitting peacefully in the park, reading a newspaper as he waited for them to leave. The fools. Did they think to catch him so easily?
He left the square the same way he had entered it, waiting for a nursemaid and her charges to unlock the gate and then courteously holding it open for them. A brief stroll took him to the mews behind the houses facing the square. No one was about, so it was the work of a moment to lift the stone where he had seen a footman hide the key the day before, unlock the garden gate, and replace the key.
Such fools, these pampered aristocrats, trusting their security to a clutch of lazy servants. The only wonder was that burglaries weren’t far more common.
The garden was remarkably large for a London house, surrounded by brick walls for privacy. Craddock could appreciate that. Even more useful from his point of view were the thick hedges that provided numerous hiding places for him, places where he could observe unseen and wait for his opportunity.
Chapter Thirty-four
In which things come to a head
It was a frustrated group that returned to Grosvenor Square. The ladies retired to their rooms to freshen up and change their clothes. The gentlemen retired to the library to console themselves at the brandy decanter.
Rather to her surprise, Anne found that her gloom had dissipated by the time she had washed her face. No, it was not that the frustration was easing. A delighted smile spread across her face. She had had a revelation, and she couldn’t wait to share it with her husband. Snatching up a shawl, she raced down the stairs.
Penworth was glowering at his glass when she reached the library, and it was only because she insisted that he put aside the brandy and allowed himself to be led into the garden.
He moved as if being dragged, keeping his eyes lowered to the graveled path and kicking at the occasional pebble. “I’m sorry, Anne. I don’t know what went wrong. We should have had him.” He finally looked up with a twisted smile. “I wanted to hand him to you all trussed up on a platter, but he escaped.”
She laughed with delight and spun about on the path, as if years and burdens and worries had all been lifted from her. “Yes, he has escaped, and he is out there someplace, scurrying about like the weasel he is, hunting for a safe burrow. That’s what’s delicious about it. Don’t you see?”
Catching hold of his sleeve, she pulled him down to sit beside her on a garden bench. “Listen to me. Over the years when he controlled my life, I somehow turned him into an ogre, an all-powerful tyrant. Then when he tried to take me back, I panicked. You drove him off, but I was still afraid. He was always there, lurking in the shadows. Even when you were with me, nothing was entirely safe. No matter how happy I was, I could never quite rid myself of the fear that he would somehow pounce like some vicious animal and smash everything.”
“He could still do that. He’s out there somewhere.” Penworth lifted his head and looked around grimly, almost as if he could see past the enclosing shrubbery and through the brick walls enclosing the garden.
“No, he cannot. It is no longer possible for him to do anything of the sort. And do you know why?” She smiled triumphantly. “Because you have exposed him! You have ripped the monster’s mask from him and shown him for what he really is—a vain, jealous, small-minded thief and bully. He thought himself so clever, but he was really a fool.”
“A fool?”
“Yes,” she insisted. “He got away with using my funds only because I was too young to do anything about it, and then when I was nearing my majority, he panicked. He thought to marry me off to a simpleton who would take me to the wilds of Scotland, as if I would of course agree to whatever arrangements he made for me. What kind of idiot would consider that a sensible plan?”
The tension around Penworth’s mouth eased slightly. “Only an idiot who didn’t know you at all.”
“And after that? He can’t have truly believed we were not legally married. And you would have had to be as greedy and foolish as he to take his word for it that the marriage would be annulled. He was running around wildly trying to find a way out of the trap he had created for himself.”
She gave a satisfied nod. “Now all he can do is run and try to hide under a rock, because he knows that as soon as he steps out into the light, we will squash him like the insect that he is.”
Penworth looked at his wife with an expression that somehow mixed fondness with awe. “You are a fierce creature, aren’t you.”
She stiffened slightly before she smiled at him. “I told you once before—I am not sweet and gentle. I am not forgiving. Not of those who injure those I love. He has not only injured me, you know. He has besmirched the memory of my parents and their friends, he has hurt and insulted Greystone and Lady Augusta, and he has tried to harm you. He has even injured Aunt Craddock and Corinne, the two people he should have protected, because he has lied to them about every aspect of their lives.”
She shook her head decisively. “No, I will not forgive him.”
Somewhat to her surprise, her husband was looking at her with complete approval. “You are magnificent,” he said. “Do you realize that when I first saw you—well, not first, but when I saw you sitting there with the tea things waiting for me to come and make my proposal—I thought you were like a china doll? Dull, boring perfection.”
Anne giggled at the picture he drew. “Now that is an accusation that has not often been leveled at me!”
“You have no idea how relieved I was to find myself wrong. So very wrong. Your perfection is anything but dull and boring.”
“I think a lady is supposed to protest at flattery, but I find myself lapping it up like cream. Pray continue.”
He stood and pulled her to her feet with him. “We have years and years ahead of us for me to pour cream over you, but it’s growing dark. We should go in.”
“Yes, and we have a future to discuss. Now that I know I have not come penniless into this marriage, I can indulge my desire to redecorate. You have been warned. I have great plans for the castle.”
He snorted. “Just wait till you have a look at the town house. It makes the castle look almost light and airy.”
“Another gloomy horror? We must move there immediately. I can hardly wait to get my hands on it.”
They were both smiling happily as they returned to the house, but just inside the door, Anne halted. “Oh dear, I left my shawl on the bench.”
Penworth turned to go back out, but she stopped him. “You go assure everyone that all is well. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
He felt a momentary qualm as she hurried out of his sight, but told himself that he should not smother her in protection. Stepping into the garden was hardly putting herself in danger. And he had promised her that marriage would mean more freedom, not less.
In the library he was greeted with glum faces from Greystone, Whyte, and Lady Augusta. Greystone looked up from his brandy. “Where is your lady?”
“She went to retrieve her shawl, but she bade me tell you all that there is no need to be so mournful.”
Whyte lifted one corner of his mouth in an expression more cynical than anything else. “We should rejoice in our failure to capture the villain?”
“According to my lady, that is unimportant.” Penworth raised his arms in an expansive gesture as he sat down. “We can leave the task of running him to earth to Bow Street. What is important is that his schemes have been overturned. He is a
part of the past that need no longer worry us. He is finished.”
“Well…” Anne’s voice interrupted.
They turned to see her standing stiffly in the doorway, her head tilted at an odd angle. “Well,” she repeated, her voice strained, “perhaps not entirely finished.”
As she stepped farther into the light, they could see that the reason for the odd tilt to her head was the pistol pressed under her chin.
With an oath Penworth jumped to his feet, only to freeze when he saw her head pushed back even more.
“No, no, my lord.” Craddock’s sneering face was visible over Anne’s shoulder. “I am most certainly not finished. Did you really think that I could be defeated by such as you?” The hand that did not hold the pistol was fastened on Anne’s arm, and Craddock’s fingers were digging into her flesh.
Greystone and Whyte had also jumped to their feet, but stood by helplessly, though Whyte had managed to step in front of Lady Augusta.
Penworth had never felt real fear before, not like this—fear made all the worse by the fact of his own impotence. Unfortunately, what he saw in Anne’s face was not fear but fury. She was on the verge of an explosion, much too angry for caution, and he was terrified that she would say something that would set this madman off.
It was obvious that this time he was the one who had to keep a tight rein on his temper. His eyes stayed focused on the pistol barrel pressing into Anne while his muscles trembled with the effort to hold himself back. “What do you want?” he managed to ask.
Craddock continued to smile. “To begin with, any money and jewels you have here in the house.”
“Very well.” Penworth forced himself to speak calmly. He had to hold on to his temper. He could not surrender to his own rage. “But first let Anne go.”
“Spoken like a true aristocrat!” Craddock barked a laugh. “You think that because you give me an order, I must obey? Do you truly think me such a fool as all that? No, no. You will collect the jewelry yourself and put it in a case. Then Anne can make herself useful by carrying it for me. I have made arrangements to sail on the tide. Perhaps I will let her go before we weigh anchor, but if you cannot provide enough by way of jewelry and money, perhaps I will take her along. She should fetch a decent price in a brothel in whatever port we land in first, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think you have really thought this through, uncle.” Anne bit off the words, making uncle sound like the vilest insult. That had no doubt been her intention.
“Of course I have,” Craddock snapped, the pistol jerking in his hand enough to make Penworth’s heart skip a beat.
Anne lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug, slight enough to not disturb the pistol. “You boast often enough of your cleverness, but you never think things through.” She sniffed, like a nurse chastising a simpleminded child. “Only a fool would have put his trust in a craven like Mr. Sprackett, and only a fool would have thought he could make my marriage disappear.”
“You should never have been allowed to marry!” Craddock’s voice was rising and, to Penworth’s horror, the hand holding the pistol was trembling. A shaking finger could fire a pistol quite unintentionally.
Anne shrugged again. “But you were unable to prevent it. Now, if you shoot me, you have nothing left to bargain with. There will be no way for you to escape, and you will certainly hang.”
“If your noble husband doesn’t mind having your brains blown all over the room, I will at least have the satisfaction of putting an end to you.”
Craddock’s rage was beginning to get the better of him, and Penworth tensed himself to pounce. He had to knock that pistol away from Anne.
At this, Lady Augusta stood up and pushed Whyte out of her way. “Really, Mr. Craddock, this is insufferable. How dare you treat Anne this way?”
Craddock drew in a breath, his nostrils flaring as he turned to her.
Lady Augusta ignored that and continued. “I have been longing to give you a piece of my mind. The way you treated Anne was simply disgraceful—dressing her practically in rags, to say nothing of the iniquity of keeping her mail from her.”
“Shut up, you old beldame!” Infuriated, Craddock swung the pistol around to point it at Lady Augusta.
Anne’s look followed the pistol as it swung away from her and her eyes widened with incredulity. Her anger seemed to dissolve into amusement. “Really, Uncle Craddock, you are an ass.”
Penworth saw what Anne saw and could hardly believe it himself. Before anyone else could react, he smashed the side of his hand down on Craddock’s wrist.
Craddock yowled, losing hold of the pistol, which dropped to the floor quite harmlessly.
Penworth pushed Anne aside and smashed a fist into Craddock’s midsection. It felt quite satisfying, so he smashed his other fist into Craddock’s face. There was an audible crunch, and Craddock crumpled onto the floor, knocking over a table with several porcelain ornaments in the process. Penworth reached down to haul him up again—another blow would be even more satisfying—but Whyte put out an arm to stop him and turned him toward Anne instead.
“He really is a fool,” she said, looking down at Craddock and shaking her head in bemusement. “He neglected to cock the pistol.”
Lady Augusta looked down at the groaning creature lying amidst the shards of porcelain and shook her head. “Vulgar upstart.” When he tried to rise, she picked up a vase and brought it down hard on his head. He stopped struggling.
Whyte looked at her with an appreciative smile, then whipped off Craddock’s cravat and used it to bind his hands. When Craddock started to make noises, Lady Augusta pulled out a handkerchief and stuffed it into his mouth. He glared at her impotently. She sniffed and turned to look at Penworth and Anne.
They were standing wrapped around each other. Penworth had been aware of the activity going on around him, but his attention was all on Anne. He could not decide whether he wanted to tell her how proud of her cool-headed courage he was or berate her for provoking her uncle still further, or berate himself for letting her step out into the garden without him, leaving her prey to the madman on the floor. He settled for saying nothing. He just held her, rocking slightly, and pressing kisses on her hair. Anne leaned against him.
Greystone cleared his throat several times in an effort to get everyone’s attention. Eventually, he succeeded. “Now that we have him, what are we going to do with him?”
They all looked at Craddock, who seemed to be trying to speak. Lady Augusta reached down and pulled her handkerchief out of his mouth. She shook it out, wrinkled her nose, and dropped it back on top of Craddock.
Since he could not banish Anne from the room—he did not think she would go—Penworth pushed her behind him. He did not want even Craddock’s gaze falling on her, but she was entitled to a voice in determining his fate. “What I would suggest…” he began.
“No,” Whyte said. “That would be murder, and, in the long run, unsatisfactory.”
Penworth snapped his jaw shut.
“Will you have me prosecuted?” Craddock’s glance darted from person to person, as if looking for some escape. “Do you dare?” Hope flared in his eyes. “Even if you succeed, even if you can prove I broke any laws, think of the scandal—prosecuting the man who took care of Lady Anne while the rest of you ignored her. All your high-flown friends will want nothing to do with you.”
Lady Augusta shrugged. “More likely they will view this as a most excellent cautionary tale about why one should never trust an upstart, and they will be grateful to us all for ridding the town of such a presumptuous blackguard.”
Greystone gave an apologetic cough and turned to Penworth. “He has a point, you know. It’s going to take a while for people to see you without thinking of your relatives. And a trial…all that dirty linen…it won’t be easy on Anne either.”
Penworth cursed softly. He had not thought of that and he should have. The last thing he wanted to do was make things worse for Anne.
She, on the other hand,
did not seem in the least dismayed. A smug smile had begun to spread across Craddock’s face, but vanished when she kicked him in the ribs. “If you think for a minute that I am going to let this miserable worm escape after all that he has done, you are sadly mistaken.”
“No, we will not let him escape.” Penworth put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “And if you are willing to undergo the notoriety of a trial…”
It was Whyte’s turn to cough. “I have a ship leaving in two days’ time for Ceylon,” he said.
The others looked at him blankly.
“There would be room for both him and Sprackett aboard,” he said, “and the captain would be willing to put them ashore there.”
“What would become of them in Ceylon?” Greystone asked.
Whyte shrugged. “That would be up to them.”
Craddock looked pleasantly surprised for a moment, thinking that he would escape. Then the implications of Whyte’s suggestion sank in, and he began to protest. “But I have no money. Nothing!” Craddock stared about him wildly. “You can’t just strand me penniless in a strange land.”
Anne looked down at her uncle. “Why not? It seems quite fitting. You were prepared to leave me penniless.”
Greystone nodded at the other men. “Until it’s time for them to sail, he can join Sprackett in the cellar.”
“No,” Craddock cried out as Whyte and Penworth hauled him to his feet. He looked around desperately. “No… What about my wife and daughter? What will become of them? They need me.”
“You remember them?” Lady Augusta looked at him curiously. “I thought they had quite slipped your mind. But no need for you to worry. We will take care of them.”
Whyte looked at her nervously, but she smiled at him. “We will provide them with a house somewhere. Harrogate, perhaps.”
“In Yorkshire. Far from Hampshire.” Whyte looked relieved.
Craddock continued to protest vociferously but to no avail as Penworth and Whyte dragged him from the room.
A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS Page 21
