by Cheryl Holt
Tristan shook his head. “No, Mr. Rafferty, not my signature.”
Tristan scowled at Michael, and in unison, they muttered, “Maud.”
Michael glowered at Bromley. “I demand that you escort us personally. We don’t have time to waste.”
HELEN leaned against the wall, enjoying the sun that shone on her face. She shut her eyes to block out the miserable souls around her, and she whispered a prayer for Amelia. That she was with Clarinda Dudley. That Helen would see her again.
She and Jane had survived their first night. It had been cold and scary, and sleep difficult. She was exhausted—and hungry—but alive and in one piece.
She’d worried over the sorts of treacherous felons they might encounter, but her fellow inmates were a mix of desperate people from all walks of life—the common factor being their poverty. Men, women, and many mothers with their children were huddled together, so no one had bothered her.
Fleetingly, she thought of Captain Odell. Was he aware of what had transpired? Would he ever learn of it?
Most likely, he was glad of her and Jane’s disappearance. It would solve many of his problems. He was probably celebrating!
“No, you may not have it!”
Jane’s terse voice echoed through Helen’s reverie, and Helen lurched up and peered about, finding her sister surrounded by three burly, filthy brigands.
Jane had heard that soup was being dispensed, and she’d gone to look, while Helen had stayed behind to keep their spot along the wall. Jane was carrying a bowl and crust of bread, and the men yanked them away.
“Leave the poor girl alone,” an older gentleman scolded.
“Mind your own business,” one of the criminals retorted.
The older man stood, as if to argue with the trio, but he was shoved to the ground and landed hard on the bricks.
With his assistance so easily foiled, everyone in the crowd glanced away, not eager to be dragged into the mess.
Helen was afraid, but she couldn’t sit by and allow Jane to be abused.
“Jane, come here,” she said.
“But he took our food,” she complained, “and I’m famished.”
“It’s just food, Jane. It’s not worth fighting over.”
“He can stand in line like everybody else; he can get his own.”
“He could, but he won’t. Come away from there. Now.”
Helen approached them, as the trio spun to see who’d had the gall to interfere. They were tall and frightening, and she and Jane were in terrible danger, but Helen couldn’t back down.
She pasted on her most stern governess frown. “You have her food, so please go away. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Aren’t you a sassy wench?” the largest man jeered, and he reached out and mussed Helen’s hair.
She batted him away.
“Don’t touch me,” she said very quietly. “Don’t touch my sister.”
“Blimey, boys. She’s givin’ me orders!”
“Will you obey, Harry?”
“Not bloody likely.”
“Let’s show her what’s done to those what tries to boss us about.”
“A grand idea, gents, but let’s find a place that’s a tad more private.”
Before Helen realized his plan, she was grabbed by the waist and swooped off her feet. The man—Harry—carted her off, as if she was a sack of potatoes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Jane had been seized in the same despicable way.
“Help! Help us!” Helen screamed, fully expecting others to leap up and rescue her, but no one did.
From up above on a rampart, several guards watched the fracas, as well, and she called out to them, too, but they blithely observed, as unmoved as if they were ancient Romans and she a Christian that had been thrown to the lions.
Helen kicked and clawed but made no progress in stopping him. Harry quickly marched toward a dark corridor, and Helen could only imagine what fate awaited them when they vanished from view.
Harry stepped into the hallway, the sunlight fading, his strides increasing in speed when, to her surprise, a man emerged from the shadows and blocked their path.
“Put her down,” he curtly said.
“You can have a turn when I’m finished,” Harry replied.
“Put her down or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
“Did you hear that, lads?” Harry sneered over his shoulder at his companions. “The fool thinks to kill me.”
They laughed and laughed, as if Harry was immortal. He tried to push past the brave fellow, but a skirmish broke out, though Helen was unsure who hit whom. It all happened so fast.
Harry’s arms went slack, and he dropped her. Panicked, on her hands and knees, she crawled toward the open area among the other prisoners. She was completely rattled, trembling, crying, reaching out for Jane, but unable to locate her.
Behind her, the sounds of fighting were brutally clear. Bone cracked on bone, body parts smacking stone, and much sooner than seemed possible, all was silent.
She skittered into the courtyard and huddled in a ball, taking deep breaths, wondering if she would ever calm. It was only her second day in the accursed jail! How would she survive? How would she keep her sanity?
Suddenly, a pair of strong arms encircled her. For a moment, deeming it the miscreant Harry again, she lashed out. She bit and scratched, but gradually, the man managed to clasp hold of her wrists and halt her struggles. She was immobilized, and a male voice crooned words of comfort.
“Helen... Helen...” he was saying. “You’re all right now.”
Confused, she pulled away and gaped at him. Was she dreaming? Was she hallucinating?
“Tristan?”
“Yes, Helen, it’s me. I’ve come for you. I’ve come, and you’re safe.”
“Where is Jane?” she frantically inquired.
“She’s fine. Michael is here, too. He’s with her.”
“I was so afraid,” she murmured.
“I know you were.”
He drew her to his chest, and she nestled with him, her ear over his heart. Her pulse was thundering like a war cannon, while his was hardly elevated, providing no evidence that he’d just thwarted three combatants.
He stroked her hair, her back, her shoulders, as he repeated that she was all right, all right, all right.
After such trial and tribulation, the solace was exactly what she needed. For a time, she wallowed in his embrace, enjoying the realization that he’d been distraught over her plight, that he’d searched for her. But as she relaxed, she remembered who he was, and who she was. She remembered what he’d done to her, how he’d insulted her family, her father, her sisters, herself.
She recalled Maud and Lydia, his mistresses and illicit children, and she eased away, forcing a cool, bland expression onto her face.
“Thank you, Captain Odell. I appreciate your assistance.”
“Oh, Helen, when I returned to London and you weren’t at the town house, I was so frightened.”
“You needn’t have been.”
“I’m so glad I found you.”
He moved as if to hug her again, but she jumped away and stood.
“I must check on my sister.”
She walked into the dim corridor, her last sight of him on his knees, his hand stretched out to her in supplication.
He looked hurt and perplexed by her detachment.
What had he expected? Had he presumed she would immediately fall for him again?
Apparently so.
He was insane, and her days of playing the gullible fool were over.
She hurried to Jane’s side.
“CAPTAIN, you wished to speak with us?”
“Actually, Maud, Michael summoned you. Come in.”
Maud entered the library, Miriam trailing after her. Tristan gestured for them to sit, and as Maud neared, she was unnerved.
Michael was seated behind the desk, and Tristan was standing at his right hand—as if Michael was in charge and Tristan merel
y a valued advisor.
It was a minor modification, but the implications were monumental. Michael was indicating that he’d assumed the reins of power. A message was being sent that he was in control and his commands would be paramount.
Maud should have been excited about the change. After all, she’d always been able to manipulate Michael, but his tense gaze boded ill.
“There appears to have been some trouble,” Maud pointed out, intending to steer the conversation in a direction to her liking. “A maid told me that the Hamiltons have returned. Is it true?”
Neither man replied, and Maud panicked. How had the women been located? Why had Tristan brought them home? What had they revealed?
Tristan waved toward the corner, and Lydia approached, her head down, as if she was terrified or ashamed. Nothing in her demeanor signified that she was acting. She seemed genuinely cowed.
“You know Lydia, of course,” Tristan said.
“Yes. I hired her.”
Maud glared a visual warning that Lydia should keep her mouth shut and all would be well, but Lydia was too much of a coward to peek up.
“Miss Hamilton and Rose both suggested that Michael and I have a long chat with Lydia,” Tristan said. “So we did. Before we begin, Maud, is there anything you’d like to say to me?”
Maud’s mind whirred over what her answer should be. What had Lydia confessed? How should Maud handle the situation?
When she failed to respond, Tristan focused on Miriam. “How about you, Miriam? Is there anything you’d like to say?”
“Honestly, Captain,” Miriam scoffed, “I have no idea why we’re here, and I most especially have no idea why I should care that you’ve been talking with a housemaid.”
Tristan nodded as if the snotty comment was precisely what he’d anticipated.
“Michael,” Miriam implored, “why are you letting him treat us this way? He shouldn’t be allowed to.”
“Be quiet, Miriam.” Michael’s tone was even and restrained, but underneath, there was a hint of steel.
Tristan stared at Lydia.
“Who locked Lady Rose in her room?”
“I did, Captain,” she replied.
“On whose orders?”
“Mrs. Seymour’s, sir.”
“Who hid the emerald ring in Miss Hamilton’s luggage?”
“I did, sir.”
“On whose orders?”
“Mrs. Seymour’s.”
The interrogation went on in a similar fashion, with Lydia candidly giving an account of every task she’d carried out at Maud’s behest. Maud fumed, reflecting on how—when the examination was ended—she would have Lydia flogged, then fired.
Maud had known better than to trust Lydia, and she couldn’t fathom why Lydia would jeopardize her position with Maud. Maud had never taken her for an idiot.
Tristan’s inquiry concluded, but Maud was still in a dither, her thoughts careening between fury and dread, as she struggled to decide what her strategy should be. Defiance seemed best.
“What have you to say now?” Tristan demanded of Maud.
“Lydia is a liar. She always has been. She’s on probation and about to be terminated, and she knows it. This is her revenge.”
“None of what she’s just confided is true?”
“Not a word.”
“So everyone is lying?” Tristan queried. “The servants, Rose, Lydia, Jane Hamilton, Mick Rafferty. All of them are lying, but you—and you alone—are telling the truth?”
At hearing Rafferty’s name—how had the rogue been exposed?—she nearly blanched with astonishment, but she controlled herself and waved Lydia away as if she was a bad odor Maud couldn’t abide.
“You insult me by asking the question, Captain. May we get back to discussing the Hamilton sisters? After the scandal involving Jane, I refuse to have them in our midst.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, Michael scowled at Miriam, his rage palpable.
“You told Jane Hamilton that you and I were be-trotted.”
“I did not!” Miriam had the good sense to respond. “If she said so, bring her in here, and I’ll call her a liar to her face!”
“Several servants saw you wearing my mother’s engagement ring. You deny it?”
“No, I don’t deny it. Mother allowed me to. It’s a very beautiful piece of jewelry, and it’s wrong to keep it locked away.”
“You’re claiming it was a harmless prank?”
“Not a prank. It matched my dress, and it looked pretty on my finger.”
“Lydia, you’re excused,” Michael stated. “Go wait in the hall.”
Lydia slithered out, managing a quick glance at Maud as she passed, but Maud couldn’t decipher her expression. Was she gloating? Was she smug? Was she afraid? Was it a warning of even more trouble to come?
Lydia exited, the door closing behind her, and an awkward silence ensued. Maud rushed to fill the void.
“Now may we discuss the Hamiltons?”
“No, we may not,” Michael snapped. “We have more important matters to cover.”
“Such as?”
“My father was fond of you, so I have permitted you to live in my home. I have supported you financially and been your most steadfast friend, and this is how you repay me? With treachery and deceit?”
“Treachery!” Maud huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Maud, I have grudgingly accepted your guidance and constantly acceded to your wishes, but the situation is ending. Right here. Right now.”
“What are you saying?” Maud was growing angry. “So what if a few disgruntled employees have made allegations? You can’t possibly—”
“Miriam,” Michael interrupted, “let me be perfectly clear: I will never marry you. You will never be my countess. Despite how long you’ve planned on ensnaring me, it will not occur.”
At first, Miriam simply gaped at him. Then she started to tremble, and she was shaking her head from side to side.
“No, no, you don’t mean it. You can’t mean it! Mother promised me! We’re destined to be together.”
“Tell me that you understand.” Michael was stoic, dispassionate, ignoring her emotional entreaty. “Tell me that we will have no further miscommunication on this issue.”
Miriam leapt up and ran around the desk. She fell to her knees and grabbed his coat.
“Please, Michael,” she begged, shaming herself. “I’ve been so patient. Whatever I did, whatever you think I did, I did it for you! Please!”
Michael was still as a statue, and Tristan leaned down and pried her away. She fought to escape, anxious to prostrate herself again.
“Miriam!” Maud scolded. “Remember yourself.” Maud wanted to intervene but wasn’t certain how. Michael was unreachable, and Odell intent on embarrassing them.
Odell wrestled Miriam out, and two footmen stood in the hall, as if the moment had been prearranged.
“Escort Miss Seymour to her bedchamber,” Tristan commanded. “See that she stays there. If she attempts to leave, prevent any departure and notify me at once.”
“You have no authority over me,” Miriam seethed.
“You may proceed of your own accord,” Tristan said, “or I shall bind your hands and feet and have you carried there.”
They engaged in a staring match that Miriam could never win, and she turned to Maud.
“Mother! You can’t let him get away with this!”
“Go to your room, Miriam. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Mother!” Miriam tried again.
“Go!” Maud hissed.
Miriam stomped off, and Odell shut the door. He came back to stand behind Michael.
“How dare you, Odell!” Maud raged, rising, quaking with fury. “You lowborn scoundrel! How dare you disrespect my daughter! How dare you disrespect me! Michael Seymour, if I had a whip, I would use it on you for permitting such a disgusting display.”
Michael rose, too. He seemed different somehow, powerful and confident as he’d never been. He
r mistake, she suddenly realized, was that she still thought of him as a malleable boy. Apparently, when she hadn’t been paying attention, he’d metamorphosed into someone she didn’t know.
“You’re leaving for the country,” he announced. “You and Miriam both. Immediately.”
“I am not. Your father charged me with watching over you, which I have done—thanklessly, it seems—for over a decade. You cannot be alone and at Odell’s mercy.”
“My father is deceased,” Michael roared, “and I am Earl of Hastings! You will obey me, or you will regret it till your dying day.”
“Don’t raise your voice to me, young man.”
Her bravado was forced. She was stunned by his behavior and wondering how to counter it.
Since the instant Odell had arrived on the scene, she’d battled him for Michael’s affection and deference. They appeared to be in the final skirmish, and Odell would not emerge the victor!
She was about to admonish and chastise, then coax and cajole, as she would have in the past, but before she could say a word, Michael spoke again.
“I have decided to marry.”
“What? No, that can’t be right.” When he said nothing, she frantically asked, “Who? Who have you selected?”
“Who would you suppose? It’s Jane Hamilton. We will hold the ceremony as soon as the Special License is deliveried.”
“No, no, I forbid it!”
“To my great relief, it’s no longer up to you.”
Michael rounded the desk and walked out.
Her head spinning, her knees weak, she sank into her chair. She felt dizzy, as if she might lose her balance and slide to the rug.
All the wasted years! All her plotting and scheming! For naught! She’d been so sure he would pick Miriam, and now that he hadn’t, what good was any of it?
“Although I advised a contrary approach”—Odell’s remark seemed to emanate from far away—“the earl is willing to be generous. Here is how he has commanded you to proceed.”
“I won’t listen to you.” She clasped her hands over her ears, as if she could block out her fate.
Odell came over, and he pulled her hands away, pinning them behind her back. He loomed over her.
“Your bags are being packed. You will depart—within the hour.”
