The Baron and the Bluestocking

by G. G. Vandagriff

  This awful chore accomplished, he could not bring himself to go to the school or the Blakeleys’ with the news. Instead he stumbled into the White Hart. Fortunately, the door to the private parlor was closed, so the Mowbrays did not see him enter. He climbed the stairs to his room and gave way to despair.

  Darkness fell, but he lit no candle and didn’t draw his curtains. He sat in his one chair, his mind a blank. Christian simply could not comprehend that his vital, sassy Hélène was gone.

  He had just heard the clock chime nine o’clock when there was a knock at the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “Ginny and Lady Delacroix. We have supper for you. You must eat.”

  Realizing he had had nothing to eat all day, he knew this was true, yet he had no appetite. And he certainly did not want to see “Ginny.”

  “Just leave it by the door, please.”

  *~*~*

  The following morning there was no news from the constable. Hélène’s body had not washed ashore anywhere in the county. He did not know whether this was a basis for hope or not. Perhaps the body could be trapped under water somehow.

  Ginny waylaid him on his way back from seeing the constable. Putting a hand on his arm, she said, “Have you eaten anything this morning?”

  He realized he was exceedingly hungry. Walking over to the bar, he asked the innkeeper to have eggs, bacon, and porridge sent up to his room. Christian then excused himself with only the barest of civility to Ginny and climbed the stairs.

  One day stretched out. Then two. The first day he took his meals in his room, the second he slept round the clock. When there was no word from neighboring counties, he told Delacroix to take the carriage with his mother and sister and depart for London. The baron told him they wished to stay in case they could be of any help.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “The same as you. Waiting for word. I was fond of her, you know.”

  With bad grace, Christian settled to a game of piquet with Delacroix to pass the time.

  “What will you do now?” the man asked him.

  “Wait. There is nothing to do but wait until the body turns up.” Suddenly, he stood up and threw his cards on the table. “I’ve forgotten. Hélène has sisters. I must call on them.”

  “Miss Hewitt took care of that. They are with Mrs. Blakeley. She is a comfort to them. The shape you are in, you would be no comfort at all. Leave them be.”

  “Hélène would want me to reassure them that they shall be properly cared for. Ruisdell is their benefactor, but they will need someone to watch over them. I shall write to the duchess.”

  Christian went upstairs and composed what proved to be a difficult letter to Elise, telling her the news and asking her advice about Hélène’s sisters. Once the letter was posted, he felt as though he had crossed a Rubicon. He had virtually accepted Hélène’s death.

  Riding out to the school, he saw that Miss Hewitt was teaching Hélène’s morning reading class. When the girls had been dismissed for lunch, he asked, “Is this too difficult taking on Hélène’s work as well as your own?”

  “For now, I can manage. But we shall need another woman eventually.” Her eyes wore an expression of deep sadness.

  Heart heavy, he looked at the girls as they walked out. Hélène had been so good with them. She had cared so much about their future.

  “When Hélène’s body has been recovered, I will consider the matter. I am still holding on to a tiny thread of hope.”

  “You loved her, did you not, my lord?”

  “I do love her. I still love her.”

  When he returned to the inn it was to find a small stooped man who required speech with him. The fellow waited patiently at the public bar, nursing a pint of ale.

  The innkeeper informed the visitor of Lord Shrewsbury’s identity and said, “This is Mr. Knobbs. He has come a long way and wishes to speak with you privately.”

  A tiny flame of hope lit in Christian’s breast, but something cautious in the man’s manner urged him to keep it to himself. “Let us take a stroll outside, Mr. Knobbs. It is a pleasant enough day.” The man was appropriately named as he was quite thin, and all his joints protruded as knobs. He seemed all ankles, wrists, and knees.

  When they were about five hundred yards from the inn and any listening ears, the little man said, “I come from Miss Hélène. She wanted you to know that she is alive.”

  Christan’s heart leapt in his breast so quickly he became dizzy. He steadied himself by placing a hand on Knobb’s shoulder. “Alive? Hélène is alive!”

  “Quiet, sir. There is someone here who must not know that she is alive. A Lord Delacrow?”

  Shrewsbury stopped his exulting.

  “This lord, he tossed her in the water, she said. Left her to drown.”

  Anger invaded Christian’s chest with great force, and he felt it would shoot out of his head. “Delacroix! I knew he was a wrong ‘un. Tell me what happened!”

  “Well, it seems he proposed to her. She told him she was in love with someone else. He took her for a walk over the bridge, picked her up in his arms and threw her over the rail.”

  Christian’s anger spread through him like fire, but a warning stopped him from going after Hélène’s would-be murderer: the minute Delacroix suspected Hélène was alive, her life would be in danger. “You must come with me to the constable, Knobbs. We must get the man in gaol before I go with you to Hélène.”

  “I will. Gladly. Just let me finish my tale. The young miss managed to tear off her riding jacket and her habit. That is all she remembers. My mistress found her as she was washed ashore at Shipton-under-Wychwood.” He stopped and looked up at Lord Shrewsbury. “At first, my lady thought she was dead. But she was breathing, so the coachman helped her haul the miss up into the carriage and she took her home to Taynton. Girl had a monstrous knock on the head. Probably hit a rock. She didn’t wake up until yesterday. And it wasn’t until this morning that she remembered aught.”

  “How is she? She must be terribly weak.”

  “As you say. But she sent me right out to find you. Knew you would be in a taking.”

  “She had the right of it. How did you get to Chipping Norton?”

  “ In a wagon. Room for you on the bench.”

  “You follow me as inconspicuously as possible. I’ll be on my horse. We’ll go to the constable first, and then off to Taynton.”

  *~*~*

  Constable Wilkins met Christian and Mr. Knobbs in his front parlor.

  “I am sorry to say we still haven’t recovered the Whitcombe lady’s body, my lord.”

  Christian shook hands with the tall man, thin as a pipe stem, who was also the squire of Chipping Norton. “I have some good news, sir. The reason we could not find her is because she is alive! Mr. Knobbs, meet Constable Wilkins.” The former removed his blue wool cap and gave a short bow of his shiny bald head.

  “Mr. Knobbs has quite a story to tell.”

  “That is good news, indeed. Suppose you tell us your tale, Mr. Knobbs. Let us be seated.”

  Knobbs told his tale for a second time, this time starting with his mistress finding Hélène and ending with her account of her attempted murder.

  “That is a grim tale, to be sure. Unfortunately, I shall have to hear it from the source before I can take action against a peer of the realm.”

  Annoyed, Christian said, “We must make off at once then for Taynton. At any time, Delacroix could leave for London, where we should have a very difficult time laying a hand upon him.”

  “Is he the kind of man who would take such action merely upon a lady’s rejection?” asked the constable.

  For the first time, Christian thought about the man’s motive. “It is very extreme, I admit. He seems to be a very cold man. I would never have guessed his feelings go that deep.”

  “The House of Lords do like a motive when prosecuting a peer. It would be helpful if we could find one,” said Wilkins.

  “Perhaps Hélène can
furnish us with something,” Christian said. “Are you prepared to leave now? She is in no condition to come back here.”

  “She is from Chipping Norton? I do not believe I know the young lady.”

  “She is one of the new teachers at the girls’ school. She is originally from Derbyshire. A vicar’s daughter.”

  “Let me just confer with my wife and my groom, Tubbs, then we can be off. He sometimes undertakes investigations for me. I’ll have him start a watch on Lord Delacroix. Where is he likely to find the man?”

  “He is lodging at the White Hart.”

  “Very well. I will be with you in no time.”

  *~*~*

  When Christian entered the chamber where Hélène was recovering, she was asleep. Not wanting to awaken her, he drew an immense feeling of well-being at merely seeing her alive. Sitting down in the ladder-backed chair beside the bed, he drank in the sight of her poor, battered face. It was scratched in several places, and there were dark circles under her eyes. A white bandage covered one side of her head, and her glorious hair was now dull and plaited. She had lived through a harrowing ordeal, and to him, it seemed nothing short of a miracle that she was alive.

  Hatred for Delacroix coursed through him. What was behind the attempted murder? Hélène held no place of influence in the world, had no money, no connections.

  Unable to resist any longer, he stood and bent over her, kissing her lightly on the brow, on her various cuts, and then on her lips.

  { 20 }

  HÉLÈNE WOKE TO SEE Christian’s face leaning over hers. “You’re here.”

  “More importantly, you’re here. Oh, my darling, I had very nearly given up any hope that you were alive,” he said. Bending down, he kissed her lightly again on the forehead and the tip of her nose. “If I had ever had any doubts of how very much I love you, this experience certainly would have put paid to them.”

  “You were the first thing on my mind when I regained my memory. Thank you for coming so speedily. It is wonderful to see your face.”

  Putting his arms around her shoulders, he pulled her up to meet him for a lingering kiss. Hélène felt warm for the first time since she had regained consciousness. She had thought for what seemed like forever in those cold, treacherous waters that she would never see Christian again. Now, seeing his face, grown drawn with worry, she could not believe she had ever had qualms about marrying him. For strength, she took the hand that lay on the bedcover and held it in both of hers. Now that her memory had returned, it was hard to banish that awful, seemingly endless period when she had fought to rescue herself. She knew that getting herself above the current and onto her back had saved her life.

  “Now, darling. I have brought the chief constable with me. He is waiting in the other room. May I bring him in? Are you up to being questioned?”

  “Yes. I am eager to get this over with.”

  A sober-looking gentleman accompanied Christian when he returned. “Mr. Wilkins, I would like you to meet Miss Whitcombe-Hodge. Hélène, this is Chief Constable Wilkins. Can you tell us what happened, darling?”

  “Lord Delacroix was angry with me,” she said.

  “He threw you to your almost certain death in a fit of pique?” Christian asked, outrage shooting from his rounded eyes. “I will see the man hanged!”

  “Pardon me, my lord,” Mr. Wilkins intervened. “Let us make some proper inquiries.” He moved closer to the bed. “Lord Delacroix took you down to the river to propose to you?”

  “Yes. That is right,” said Hélène.

  “And then what happened?”

  “I told him my affections were engaged,” Hélène looked into Christian’s eye; they were suddenly soft. Forcing herself to go on, she said, “He asked me to take a walk with him. When we reached the center of the bridge, he picked me up and tossed me over like so much rubbish.”

  “That is all?”

  “That is all. He was remarkably unemotional about the entire thing.” Brooding for a moment, she said, “You know, I have never been able to believe he cared for me, yet he began, almost from the moment I met him, to pursue me with the idea of marriage in mind.”

  “Pardon me, Miss, but did you ever encourage him at all?”

  Anger stirred within her. “No, not at all. Do you mean to imply that if I encouraged him that I deserved what I got?”

  The chief constable backed up. “Not at all. I am only trying to get the entire picture here.”

  He began to walk about the room, occasionally stopping to finger a Dresden figurine, a comb, a brush. “Did he know that Lord Shrewsbury was the object of your affections?”

  “I imagine he guessed,” she said.

  “Could the aim of his actions have been to injure his lordship, perhaps?”

  Shrewsbury interrupted, “Do you not think that a little extreme?”

  Wilkins said, “Either Lord Delacroix has the vanity of a hundred men, or he had some other motive. Did he have any reason to expect you to reject his suit, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge?”

  “Yes. I told him from the beginning that I had received another offer.”

  “So you were affianced to Lord Shrewsbury, yet you entertained Lord Delacroix’s attempts to court you?”

  “It was not Lord Shrewsbury who had offered for me.” In anger, she sat up in her bed. “And I resent your attempts to fix the blame for this incident on me, sir.”

  “Darling,” said Christian. “Lie down again. Please. I know this is trying, but Chief Constable Wilkins is just trying to get a picture of the circumstances.”

  “Yes,” said the man. “I am wondering if the expedition to the river was made with his heinous act planned beforehand. I know this must seem another odd question, but had this man any reason to wish you out of the way?”

  Hélène was about to say “No, of course not,” when a remarkable idea entered her mind. For a moment, she considered it. “Yes. Yes, except that I do not know why he was so set on it.”

  “Hélène?” Christian asked. “What do you mean, darling?”

  “He was very set on your marrying his sister, Christian. But I do not know why. Have you a lot of money?”

  Her love looked startled. “As a matter of fact, I do have a fair amount. But I have never let it become a matter of common knowledge. It is the estate. It is the finest sheep country in Yorkshire. But I have never been terribly keen about farming.” He considered this. “No doubt it could bring in a vast amount more than it does if it were properly managed.”

  “If money were the object, why would Lord Delacroix court me?” asked Hélène. “Why not an heiress?”

  “There may not have been one to hand,” Christian said. “And, pardon me, darling, but he may not have intended to marry you at all. Merely keep me from doing so.”

  “Do you think he has debts?” she asked.

  “I have an idea,” the Chief Constable said. “I believe Miss Whitcombe-Hodge should remain safely here. We will maintain the fiction that she is drowned for her own safety while Lord Shrewsbury takes a journey to Town to inquire after the affairs of Lord Delacroix. If he has debts, it will be known. Probably at his club.”

  “That is as good a way as any to keep me away from the blister,” declared Christian. “If I were to face him, no doubt I would try to take the law into my own hands. I thank Providence you were not taken in by his obvious charms, my dear.”

  “They always seemed a bit too heavy-handed for my liking,” she replied. “Obviously, I preferred being rounded upon and lectured by one who disapproved of me.” She gave him the finest smile she could muster. “But what about Samuel? I am convinced he must be upset. Can you not take him into your confidence and enlist his aid? Perhaps he can watch Lord Delacroix and Lady Virginia while you are out of town.”

  As Christian mulled this over, she had another idea. “Do not act any differently with Lady Virginia. If she and her brother are plotting, as we assume, she will now think you are bound to marry her. It may be interesting to see what she does, how she
acts.”

  “Very well, my love,” Christian said. “Any other instructions?”

  “Just my sisters. You can trust them. Please let them know you have found me alive. Do not tell them where I am, however, as they might find a way to sneak out and see me. They might be followed.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Christian gave her a salute. Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead, taking her hand in his. He pressed it. “I can hardly bear to leave you, but the sooner I am on my way, the sooner I can return. I will come here straightaway, so I will lead no one here from Chipping Norton. Expect me five days hence, and continue to recover, darling.”

  It was immensely difficult to watch Christian leave, and Hélène fretted much during his absence. However, her battered, exhausted body was in need of so much sleep that the time actually passed more quickly than she imagined it would.

  *~*~*

  “Darling, wake up!”

  Hélène awoke sometime during the night of the fifth day, her headache much improved, to find Christian bending over her, his hand on her cheek. She had been dreaming that he was fighting a duel with Lord Delacroix and had been mortally wounded.

  “Oh, Christian, you are alive!”

  His brow furrowed. “I was never in any danger, my love. And yes, I am very much alive.” Leaning down he gave her a welcome kiss that caused her to throw her arms around his neck and pull him down beside her.

  “Steady on, my love. We are without a chaperone!”

  Hélène rested back on her pillows. “It is just so good to see you. Were you able to find out anything?”

  “I believe I have uncovered at least part of the rotter’s plan. I sent off some letters yesterday that I hope will tell me the rest.”

  “Is Lord Delacroix in debt?”

  “It is not just mere debt,” Christian replied. “His estate is mortgaged to the hilt and the payment due. At this point, the bailiffs have taken all his possessions out of the manor in Dorset, and he risks foreclosure at any time.”