The Promise

by May McGoldrick

  “All in good time, my dear.” His eyes took in the hostile faces of the gathering—at the gazes that no longer turned away from him. “You will die this morning. But before I grant you your wish, it is only fitting that you witness what your actions will cost some of these creatures.”

  Millicent stared through a sheen of tears as Wentworth laid the edge of the sword against the chest of the person nearest him. She gasped aloud as he slashed the shirt skin deep enough to draw blood. The man barely flinched. Wentworth lifted the point of the weapon, pointing at the man’s face before moving down the line, studying each face as he went.

  “We must do this in the correct order, my dear. We shall kill your friends in the correct order.”

  Millicent held her breath and stared in horror at the bloodlust playing over her husband’s features. When he came to a stop before Jonah and raised his sword to the man’s throat, she scrambled to her feet and ran toward them.

  “Please do not kill him,” she sobbed. “Please, Wentworth, I beg you. Have mercy!”

  Millicent couldn’t get to him fast enough. Wentworth sneered at her, raising his elbow to thrust the weapon.

  The sneer turned to a look of surprise, however, and the sword dropped to the ground at his feet. Reaching behind him, the squire opened his mouth to speak, and then sank to his knees in the dirt. As he fell, Millicent watched Moses release the handle of his knife, leaving the squire to twitch in his final agony.

  The old slave turned slowly and stared at his friend. “Jonah,” he whispered, tears on his weathered face.

  The roar coming from behind her shook her from her trance.

  “You filthy scum! I shall kill every one of you.”

  Millicent turned and watched Mickleby advancing on them, sword in hand.

  “NO…! Run, Moses! Stop, I say, Mickleby!” She tried to throw herself at the bailiff, but hands took hold of her. She twisted in terror. “Jonah…run!”

  Neither of the men moved, and Millicent felt the hands pull her out of the bailiff’s path. She could hear herself screaming, saw Mickleby advancing as in a dream. Then, around them, the line of workers suddenly began scrambling backwards, dragging her with them. The sound of thunder filled the air. The bailiff stopped, sword raised, when he was almost upon the two men. He turned his head, and Millicent saw a flicker of fear in his eyes.

  That was all the time Lord Stanmore needed. As the black hunter tore past, the earl’s sword arced through the air, cutting the bailiff down with a single deadly stroke.

  Millicent stood stock still as the hands holding her loosened and then released her. She watched Stanmore dismount and, with a quick glance at her, go directly to the body of Cunningham. Frowning fiercely, he closed the young man’s eyes a moment later with unsteady hands. His examination of Wentworth and Mickleby, however, was cold and brief.

  Rebecca rode into the clearing and dismounted from her horse, coming immediately to her. Millicent accepted her friend’s embrace, but her gaze remained on Moses, who was still standing over the body of the squire.

  “I killed him!” Moses said evenly to the earl, pointing at Wentworth’s body. “He killed the teacher…he was going to kill Jonah…I killed him…I killed him with this.” He crouched down and gestured to the hilt still protruding from the squire’s body.

  “Oh, Moses…!” Millicent cried.

  Stanmore looked at her briefly before putting his hand on Moses’s shoulder. Millicent held her breath.

  “Those who saw this will tell you that you are mistaken, Moses. You did not kill Squire Wentworth…I killed him.” He bent down and pulled out the knife, wiping it clean and handing it back to Moses, saying gently, “Can you remember that? You killed no one.”

  Moses looked in confusion at Jonah who, in turn, nodded to him.

  “He can remember that, m’lord.” Jonah said quietly.

  Stanmore nodded and his gaze swept the group. He pointed to Mr. Cunningham. “This great man, our friend, is dead, but these other two deserved what came to them. It would be better for all of us to forget what happened today.”

  There were nods among the workers.

  “Very well, then. Jonah, perhaps you had better have someone go up to the Hall and get help. And we shall need to bring Reverend Trimble here from Knebworth…to settle the formalities.”

  ***

  The willingness of the old butler to answer each one of their questions spoke clearly of the man’s lingering bitterness toward his late master and his family.

  “He had the morals of a cat and the self-control of a goat. He cared not a rush who it was…or when…or how many.” Robert sat in a chair facing the lawyer. Sir Nicholas stood comfortably by the window. “Sir Charles would pick up a girl in the Strand, take her to the Haymarket Theater and leave with her on one arm and some handsome actress on the other. Off to the Rose Tavern or Ranelagh Gardens they’d go, and about dawn he would pick up some whore in St. James’s Park on his way home.” The man shook his head in disgust. “Everyone in the house knew when Sir Charles had got himself the clap. The girls would be praying for it to last…as it meant he’d be staying off of them while the burning lasted.”

  “And Lady Hartington put up with all of this?”

  Robert shrugged at the lawyer. “What was she to do? She had three young children by him, and after that we all thought she was happy to have his lecherousness aimed at other women and not at her.” He shook his head. “Nay, sirs. I think she minded none of it, so long as he was halfway discreet about it…and stayed away from her bed.”

  “I assume Sir Charles took a fancy to Rebecca Neville.”

  Robert looked over the younger man. George had spoken very highly of Sir Nicholas and the old butler could see why. Highborn the fellow might be, but he was down to earth in his manner.

  “That he did,” Robert answered. “But from the beginning she’d have no part of him. You see…she ain’t like the others. She was no servant in the house…at least, that was our understanding. And Lady Hartington treated her like she was quality or something.”

  The former butler glanced at the two gentlemen waiting attentively, waiting for him to continue. For all the years he’d worked for Hartington, Sir Charles had never treated him with half the civility of these two. “As I was saying, he pressed her first the same as he did with all the help. But she would not budge. And then one night, and when the wife was out, he became impatient, I suppose you could say, and ordered me to bring her to him.”

  “Did you?” the lawyer asked, horrified.

  “I might have been paid by the filthy codger, but I ain’t a pimp. And I never forced any woman into that man’s bed.” The man shook his head in self-defense. “All I did was tell Miss Neville about the master’s order. The rest was up to her.”

  “Did she go?”

  “She told me to tell him that she was leaving. In the middle of night…with no place to go…she was willing to go on the street rather than wait around and be used so by the master.” Robert shook his head at the memory. “Sir Charles about had a stroke when I told him.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He cornered her on the stairs and accused her of stealing his wife’s jewelry and silver. Then he dragged her back into his study—latching the door behind them.”

  Neither men spoke. Both were staring at him gravely. He knew they thought the worst.

  “He didn’t get what he wanted. Miss Rebecca wouldn’t give it up. Instead, the plucky lass dinged him one on the head with a poker and ran off.”

  “What happened next?” the lawyer asked impatiently.

  “I believe she thought she’d killed him. I mean, we all thought that, seeing all the blood spilling out on the rug. She ran out of the house and down the street. Someone told us they saw her get into a passing carriage. But we never saw her again.”

  The two men looked at each other.

  “Elizabeth,” Sir Nicholas said.

  The lawyer turned back to the butler. “And Sir Charles?�
��

  Robert laughed mirthlessly. “Embarrassment and trouble followed for him. He was out cold until well after his wife got home and sent us to fetch a doctor. She was not particularly happy at the sight of him…you know, lying there with a gash in his head and his breeches open and…well, sirs, his intentions were very clear.”

  “And that was the end of it?”

  “Not at all, sir!” Robert chuckled again. “Sir Charles ended up with a scar on his head that even a wig couldn’t cover. And despite his wife’s objection, he wanted to have Miss Neville chased down and hung for what she’d done. Of course, he’d already changed his version of what happened. She was a thief and a murdering slut, in his telling. But as soon as he started making noise like that, the sky fell on him.”

  “What do you mean?” Sir Nicholas asked.

  “Miss Neville’s family showed up.”

  “Her family?”

  Robert nodded to the lawyer. “First, a handful of lawyers showed up accusing him of everything but starting the Great Fire. Then the two lords showed up in a carriage finer than any Sir Charles ever dreamed of having. None of us knew anything about it before…but we knew certain enough then that the girl was real quality…but somehow distanced from her kin. But the long and short of it, sirs, was that the Hartington’s were in deep water for not taking care of her, for nobody could find her after that.” The man smiled with grim satisfaction. “It was quite ugly.”

  “What was the family’s name?” the lawyer asked. “Do you remember?”

  “Of course, sirs.” The man nodded. “It was North! All of us were sworn to secrecy, but I don’t mind telling you. She was the daughter to the earl of Guilford. You know, Lord Guilford of Wroxton Abbey. Can you imagine…our Miss Neville, sister to Lord North, the king’s Prime Minister!”

  CHAPTER 32

  “I cannot leave, Rebecca. I cannot leave Melbury Hall tonight…and I cannot leave it on Friday.”

  From the time Rebecca had arrived at the Grove this morning—from the moment she had seen her friend standing with the workers over the body of the squire—she had guessed at this decision.

  “William should not have died.” Millicent looked down into her lap and dashed a tear from her face. “But the inevitable truth is that he is gone. Wentworth left no heir, so I am to inherit everything…” She waved a hand vaguely. “It is all mine now—Melbury Hall, the plantations in Jamaica, his slave holdings. There is so much to undo, and it is up to me to do it. But for the first time in my life, I am not afraid.”

  Rebecca touched her friend’s knee gently and drew her gaze. “You will do well in all you have to do. I cannot tell you how proud I am of you.”

  “Then you are not angry with me?”

  “For not running away?” Rebecca smiled and shook her head. “I wish I had half of your courage. No, I am not angry, Millicent…only proud to be your friend.”

  “But do you have to go?” she asked softly. “What are the chances of anyone discovering you…of learning your secret? You can stay with me…we can…”

  Millicent stopped speaking as Stanmore returned to the room.

  “Have you made the arrangements, m’lord?” Rebecca asked.

  The two listened intently as the earl explained what had already been done. Millicent accepted the earl’s offer to send Philip over for a few days to Melbury Hall to see to the hiring of a new steward and bailiff and servants. It was a welcome offer, for Lady Wentworth had decided that any of the household staff who had allied themselves with the squire must go.

  When Stanmore and Rebecca were ready to leave, Millicent held her friend in a long embrace. “Will I ever see you again?” she whispered in her ear.

  “Of course,” Rebecca murmured in a husky voice, knowing that if she spoke the truth now, she would quite probably lose both her composure and her courage.

  ***

  The suite of saloons at Lady Mornington’s palatial home overlooking Grosvenor Square was filled with the usual crowd of men and women plying their skill at the various gaming tables.

  “I never thought I should ever see you so easily defeated, Louisa.” Lady Mornington cast a sly glance at her friend as they sat together on a chaise. “But this sulking is not becoming, in the least.”

  “One must wage a war before accepting defeat!” Louisa’s gaze fanned over the well-dressed crowd. “In Stanmore’s case, the war was not worth the prize.”

  “So this…this Mrs. Ford was a more worthy opponent than you first assumed!”

  “Who?” Louisa asked breezily.

  Lady Mornington inclined her head toward her young friend. “You were a smart woman to leave the battlefield while you still have your head attached to your shoulders. Stanmore has not been known to take too kindly to women who, upon being dismissed, arrive uninvited at his doorstep.”

  Nothing was sacred, Louisa thought. That little slut of a maidservant must have told everyone about Stanmore’s letter.

  “I did not go down to Hertfordshire to visit Solgrave,” she lied. “I was visiting an old friend.”

  “I have heard about that, too.” The older woman smiled. “And how is Squire Wentworth these days? Does he still amuse himself by mistreating that unfortunate wife of his?”

  “I could hardly say anything about that.” Louisa tucked a strand of her powdered hair in place before turning her pouting face away.

  “You should mix with better company than Wentworth, my dear. Considering the man’s reputation, even someone as clever as you would not fare very well with him for long.” The older woman’s gaze swept the crowd before returning to Louisa. “I did have someone in mind tonight that you should meet, however. A certain distinguished gentleman who should easily cure you of your loss of Stanmore. He should restore you to complete health, my dear, both in your pocket and in your bed.”

  Louisa couldn’t help but be interested.

  “Ah, there he is.” Lady Mornington waved to a well-dressed man across the room. The gentleman started their way. “Augustus Fitzroy—the third Duke of Grafton. He is filthy rich and recently divorced.”

  “Of course!” Louisa lifted a brow with admiration as the handsome man approached. “Lady Mornington, you are doctor of the first order. I believe you just found the cure for melancholy.”

  ***

  Rebecca awoke to the sound of carriages pulling into the drive. She looked beside her and found Stanmore was already gone. Daylight poured in from the windows, and a glance at the clock on the mantel told her that she had slept far later than usual.

  Stanmore had wanted her to come riding with James and him this morning, as well. But with everything that had happened at Melbury Hall yesterday, she wondered if the two had decided against it.

  She pushed the covers aside and pulled on a brocade robe. Sweeping the long mane of hair over her shoulder, she quickly walked to the window in time to see the last of the visitors disappearing inside. A dozen equerries, footmen, and grooms milled about the drive for a moment before leading the carriage and horses toward the stables.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned. “The Prime Minister…already!”

  Philip had warned her about the visit today. Well, she thought, she would simply stay in her room this morning. The fewer people she met, the fewer questions would be asked, and easier time Stanmore would have explaining her disappearance when she was gone.

  She did, however, need to meet with Jamey this afternoon. Alone. Her time with him was drawing rapidly to an end, and she had to say goodbye.

  As she washed her face, a sharp tapping at the door drew her attention. She closed the robe tighter around her and went to answer it. Mrs. Trent and four maidservants were waiting outside.

  “I am so happy that you are up already, my dear,” the housekeeper said breathlessly. “We have to get you ready.”

  Not giving a chance to Rebecca to utter a word, the woman motioned for the servants to follow her inside of the room. Her best dress was laid out on the bed while Mrs. Trent and two of the gir
ls sat her before a mirror, her hair brushes and combs in hand.

  “What is this all about?” she managed to ask, between Mrs. Trent’s hurried instructions to the hair dressers.

  “Why, the Prime Minister is waiting for an introduction, of course. Lord Stanmore is already with him. The house is in a complete uproar…I mean, with Sir Nicholas and Sir Oliver arriving before dawn this morning, and his lordship spending an hour behind closed doors with them before having his coffee, even! And no sooner is he finished with his discussions there, but who is driving down the lane…the Prime Minister’s party!” The housekeeper selected the underclothes herself. “Now, I know his lordship has not even breakfasted yet…and you know how he is before he eats…”

  Ravenous, Rebecca thought, hiding a smile.

  “Well, I saw him…just for a moment as he moved from one room to the next…and he certainly did not have the look of a hungry man. In fact, he looked…well, I don’t know how to describe it!”

  Without taking a breath, the housekeeper went on, chiding the girls for their slowness in getting Rebecca ready. “Now, if you had not given me such a hard time about your new wardrobe, I would have chosen an ivory dress with gold ribbons for you to wear today…but then perhaps I shall just have one ordered anyway. There is still the entire summer to enjoy.”

  Rebecca’s mind drifted to Stanmore and his houseful of guests. She prayed he was not exposing himself to scandal in trying to arrange a pardon for her. And how strange, that Sir Oliver and Sir Nicholas should ride down in the middle of the night!

  “More beautiful than a summer flower.” Mrs. Trent nodded approvingly, making the final adjustments on the dress.

  Thoughts of rebellion flashed in Rebecca’s mind. If she decided not to go downstairs, then Stanmore might not feel compelled to reveal her past to a stranger. Then he wouldn’t be opening himself up to…

  “She is ready!” Mrs. Trent took Rebecca by the arm and led her toward the door before she could even formulate a workable plan.