Devil's Lady

by Patricia Rice

  Morgan shook his arm free, and his gaze was fierce as it focused on his attorney. “For her own good, let’s leave it that way, shall we? Let her think me dead, if you wish. I’d advise her to leave the city, if I were you. She has a curiosity about the colonies that you might encourage. You haven’t touched her money in my affair, have you?”

  The week of tension finally erupted. Not a large man or a strong one, Miles seldom engaged in fisticuffs, but words were inadequate to express his rage. His awkward swing had only the advantage of surprise. His fist connected sharply with Morgan’s jaw, but the highwayman merely staggered backward.

  “You may have your accounts in the morning, de Lacy, and then you can go to hell.” Miles turned around and stalked away, leaving the Irishman to stare after him, hand to jaw.

  Faith nearly cried when the footsteps finally sounded on the stairs below. She rushed to the narrow mirror to check her hair, straightened her kerchief, and glanced around the room to be certain all was in order. The two tiny rooms were scarcely large enough to hold Morgan, but they were clean and fresh, and they would be here only a little while. She tried not to look at the newly made bed. It was small, but adequate for their means. She put her hands over the blush that rose to her cheeks. She was a wife now. It was unseemly to blush.

  She nearly danced to the door, throwing it open before the footsteps reached the landing. That Miles came first surprised her, but she gave him a smile and looked eagerly over his shoulder for some sign of Morgan. The candle in her visitor’s hand revealed only shadows, empty shadows. Faith died a little inside as she turned her gaze slowly back to the solicitor.

  Miles gestured for her to go back into the room, and he followed with halting step. The room was illuminated by a lantern and a branch of candles, and he rubbed his sore knuckles as he absorbed the small signs of welcome she had prepared. A bouquet of marguerites brightened the table under the window. Morgan’s clean clothing lay pressed and ready on a chair. A few pieces of coal burned in the grate to chase away the damp.

  His gaze returned to the woman who had prepared all this, and he could tell she had made no exception for herself. Her hair gleamed with brushing, her kerchief and gown were spotless and arranged just a little more provocatively than was her custom. The smile that had been on her lips just a moment ago still strained to remain in place. His heart ached in despair.

  “Where is he?” Faith whispered.

  “He’s not coming.” Miles’s voice was flat as he circled the room, locating a small decanter of wine and helping himself.

  “Not coming?” She sounded weak and foolish even to herself, but she could think of no other words.

  “He has some idea it would be better if you didn’t see him again.”

  “Not see him again?” She was beginning to sound like a parrot. Faith tried again. “He is free? He’s not in that terrible place anymore? What happened?”

  Miles took a drink and stared at the coals. “The witness did not appear, and the judge let him go. All the fees have been paid, and he is free. The last I saw of him, he was heading for a tavern.”

  There didn’t seem to be much to say to that. Faith had known he had another life and that London was part of it. Morgan might very well have a mistress here. He had never promised to be faithful. He had not wanted their marriage. It had simply been an expedient solution to a difficult problem.

  He owed her nothing. Why had she thought that they had something special? He had never said the words. He had just used her because she was convenient, and offered to marry her to keep her happy.

  She had known that. Why did she feel as if she were dead or dying and that the sun would never rise again?

  “I see.” Faith picked up another wineglass and held it out. Miles filled it for her, and she sipped at the rich liquid as she tried to pull together her shattered illusions.

  “Morgan wished me to look after you. He said something about your wishing to go to the colonies. I can arrange that, or if you prefer, I can make meet with your family and sound out their intentions. Perhaps they are only interested in finding you for your safety’s sake.”

  Faith responded as if she hadn’t heard him. “Did you know my father was shot? Miners can’t afford guns. I shouldn’t think the squire or vicar or any of the shopkeepers would have been there at dawn. Who do you think would want to shoot my father? He was harmless. He never hurt anyone.”

  Miles felt his stomach wrench. Cautiously he set her glass aside and took her hands. “That was a long time ago, Faith. We have to think about now. I hate to leave you alone like this. Shall I call your landlady?”

  Faith pulled free. “You have done what I asked of you. You may go home now with an easy conscience. Have you seen Toby? Will he come again?”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I know what you plan. I want to make arrangements to see you to safety. Perhaps you would like to live in a village instead of London. I can have someone look for a suitable house and arrange for your quarterly interest to be sent to you. I’ll see to having your marriage annulled. I’m not certain of its legality in any case. You can look about and find some suitable young man. It would be better if you went about in society, but if you fear your family...”

  Faith wasn’t really listening. Her thoughts were in a small cottage in a forest where she had known some of the happiest days of her life. A poor life it must have been for those to be her happiest days, but she had been content. Morgan had filled her with life and love and laughter.

  “If you can find Toby, I’d like to go home. I suppose the mare has been sold. Is it possible to hire a horse? Or I could walk. The days aren’t very chilly yet.”

  Miles drained his glass. “I’ll send Toby to you as soon as he appears. Get some sleep, and I’ll be back in the morning. Perhaps Morgan will have come to his senses by then. I’ll have Mrs. Thwaite send Mary up here.”

  Faith scarcely noticed when he left. If Mary arrived, she didn’t notice that either. She went into the bedroom and closed the door. She lay down on the bed she had meant to share with Morgan. And she stared at the ceiling until her eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.

  Then she slept like one of the dead until Toby pounded on the door the next morning.

  She ignored Toby’s arguments. Nothing anyone suggested felt right. She needed to go back to the cottage, back to the place where she and Morgan had been happy. He had been happy, she knew it. He couldn’t find her here in London. If he changed his mind, he would look for her at the cottage.

  Faith came out of her daze long enough to give Toby a look of surprise at the mare he held for her when they came down to the street. Morgan’s mare. Her lifted eyebrows spoke what her words did not.

  Toby shrugged with embarrassment. “I didn’t sell her. Morgan didn’t ask. She’s a lovely thing. It seemed a shame to let some big brute buy and ruin her.”

  Faith ran her hand over Dolly’s high, arched neck and mane, and the Arabian blew a soft breath and nuzzled her gently. Not everything was black, then. With tears in her eyes, Faith accepted Toby’s assistance and gained the animal’s back. If she could only hold on to this one small part of Morgan, perhaps someday she would hold the rest.

  The notion of ever holding Morgan in her arms again brought new tears, and she took the reins and hurriedly started down the road. She would go mad to think like that.

  She would have to take one day at a time. Staring at the teeming multitude of people swarming the streets of London, Faith wondered where in all this huge city Morgan was, but she refused to wonder why he had done this to her. She understood what no one had said. Morgan had gone back to a life of theft. He wouldn’t give up his revenge for her.

  Chapter 27

  “I’m sorry, my lady. I have done everything within my power to find her, but every trace has disappeared. Even the Runner I relied upon to help me in my search has failed me. The highwayman has not led me to his wife, and certainly not to anyone who might be George’s daughter.”

 
Edward didn’t mention the bank account that he and Thomas had set up to entice either the highwayman or the heiress to appear. The money was gone, spirited away by tribes of lawyers and legal paperwork. He still had a solicitor following the paper trail, but he already knew where the bank’s copies of the heiress’s papers had gone. Or had a strong suspicion.

  Lady Carlisle held up her chin and tapped her fingers on her walking stick as she gazed in the direction of the draped windows. “I thank you for your efforts, Edward. I’m not quite certain how this highwayman became involved in your tale, but I’m certain you meant well. I think your father might be right. We should begin in Cornwall and trace her from there.”

  In his high-backed chair in the corner, the marquess gave a grunt and rubbed at his foot. “Wesley has been worse than useless. None of his pious followers admit to having seen a hair of the girl. We’d best start facing up to the facts, Lettice. She’s gone. Wherever or however, she’s disappeared, and we’re not likely to find her after all this time.”

  The lady paled beneath her papery skin, but she continued clinging to her walking stick. “I won’t give up, Harry. She’s all I have left to live for. I will find her, if I must go to Cornwall myself.”

  For once, father and son exchanged mutual looks of agreement. The marquess was the one to step forward and offer his hand to the lady. “Lettice, you look tired. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? You know we will let you know as soon as we have some news.”

  Looking down her nose, Lady Carlisle disdained his hand. “I am not an idiot, Harry. If someone has murdered my granddaughter, I want to know. Just tell me the truth, and perhaps someday I can get a little sleep.”

  A commotion on the stairs outside the parlor drew their attention. A moment later, a servant threw open the double doors and made a deep obeisance. “Master Thomas Montague and Lady Faith Henrietta Montague, milords, milady.”

  Lady Carlisle gasped and held her hand to her breast as the roguish Thomas entered with a demure young woman in dove-gray gown and modest bonnet. Edward glared thunderously. But it was the old marquess’s approval they sought, and Mountjoy’s sharp gaze softened to one of relief as the girl made a dutiful and graceful curtsy.

  “Welcome home, granddaughter. It is good to see you at last.”

  Thomas smoothly accepted the congratulations and answered the eager questions that followed. He smugly tucked his newfound cousin’s arm through his and relished the feeling of the shoe being on the other foot for a change as he offered all the evidence his family could possibly require to verify his cousin’s identity.

  ***

  “Word is, he’s in high circles now, rubbing elbows with the Quality. I don’t know his lay, but it’s payin’ well if he can keep up with the likes of them. You needn’t worry ’bout Jack, Faith. He’s a right one.” Toby tried to reassure her as he quaffed his ale and watched her polish the high table in the taproom. It was early afternoon and there was none about but themselves.

  Faith didn’t even attempt to smile. She turned from the table to the row of pewter mugs. “That’s nice, Toby. And what are you doing these days?”

  Toby watched her busy hands with something akin to despair. Faith wasn’t Faith anymore, but some scullery maid named Alice. Before long, she would begin blending in with Whitehead’s dingy woodwork. He didn’t know how to change things, but putting a bullet in Jack’s back probably wouldn’t help.

  “I’m just round and about. With winter coming, maybe I ought to take up my brother’s offer and go to Virginia if it’s as warm there as he says. Want to go with me?” Toby had been trying for weeks to get up the courage to ask this. Jack’s fancy man of business had urged it, and even offered to pay him to persuade Faith, but it wasn’t the money that made him ask.

  Faith didn’t answer. She stared at the mugs as she polished them to a high gleam.

  It was early November, almost a year since she had met Morgan. It seemed a lifetime, and then again, it didn’t seem long enough. Going home to face the empty cottage each night had become an ordeal she found more and more difficult to face. At first she had done so eagerly, hoping against hope to find Morgan there waiting for her.

  After more than two months, it was obvious even to her that he didn’t plan to return. With the weather turning bad, she had taken to saddling and riding Dolly to the inn every day. It would be a simple enough matter to leave the mare in the stable and take one of the upstairs rooms for herself and not go back at all.

  The front door creaked in the empty corridor outside the taproom. Whitehead had gone into the village and his wife was in the kitchen with the cook and the new tavern maid. Molly had left for London soon after she sold her babe to a couple who couldn’t have children. That left only Faith and Toby to man the front rooms, and Faith didn’t deal with customers if she could avoid it.

  Toby frowned and nodded toward the room where the kegs were kept. “Go on in there. I’ll see what they want and call Mrs. Whitehead for you.”

  Faith hesitated, then did as told. She had learned caution these last months, and she suspected there might be extra reason for caution now. She stepped into the storage room and listened as the stranger or strangers spoke to Toby.

  “Where’s Whitehead?” The voice spoke with authority, although the accent held a definite cockney note to it.

  “To town. If you’re needin’ a room, I’ll fetch his missus.”

  “Just give me an ale. You live in these parts?”

  Faith smiled at the wary tone Toby adopted. She had heard that cautious tone often enough. The men that frequented the Raging Bull had reason to avoid questions, and they did so adroitly. Unlike their London brethren, they were not given to selling information to the law. The last one who had tried that had mysteriously disappeared, never to be heard from again.

  “For a piece,” Toby answered evasively, drawing the requested drink.

  “You remember a gentry mort who worked here a while back? What was her name?”

  Faith felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, and the unusual coldness of Toby’s reply was indicative of his nervousness. “You must be thinkin’ of somewhere else. Ain’t no gentry in these parts, and no one ever mistook Molly for gentry.”

  “Molly? No, that ain’t the name. Alice, she was. I remember now. Alice. Went to London with Black Jack, if I remember rightly. Pretty thing, wasn’t she?”

  Standing in the darkness of the closet, Faith nearly succumbed to a wave of dizziness. Why would anyone be looking for her? And under that name? It couldn’t be her family. Why would the law be looking for Alice Henwood?

  There was only one reason Faith could think of, and the memory of a black night and a gunshot and a fallen man came back to haunt her. She had blacked the memory out, refusing to think of it, and Morgan had spoken of it no more, but it couldn’t go away entirely. She had killed a man. She held her hand to her spinning head and sat down abruptly.

  Toby sent the man on his way, but when Faith didn’t immediately reappear, he went around the bar to find her. She was sitting on a keg, holding her head. He crouched down beside her and took her hand. “Faith? He’s gone. Everything’s all right.”

  Faith’s hand fell to her lap and cradled her abdomen as if she were about to be ill. “Jack isn’t coming back, is he?”

  Toby clenched his fingers into his palms. “Not likely, lass. He’s doin’ the best thing for you. Them that he’s with would use you in turn if he let them. It’s not a life for the likes of you.”

  And it wasn’t the life for a child. Faith clenched her teeth and held her chin up to keep the tears from falling. God had punished her once for living in sin, and He had punished Morgan for his life of crime. She didn’t know if she was married in God’s eyes now, but she had done as well as she could. She had a name and a piece of paper that gave this child she was carrying a father.

  Morgan had done his job well. Had he gone to the gallows, there would still be a part of him to live on. He might go to the gallows yet
. She would never let his son know of it. His son would know only of the proud man who had lost his home and died earning it back. He would have the father that Morgan could have been.

  “How often do ships go to Virginia, Toby?”

  Toby stared at her in mixed relief and dismay. The voyage terrified him, but for Faith he would sail the seven seas. He rose and pulled her up with him. “I’ll find out, then, lass. You go home and wait for me.”

  Miles Golden had given Toby a bank draft in Faith’s name, and coins enough to pay their passage, but Faith wouldn’t touch them.

  When the time came to leave, she carried her small horde of hard-earned money and rode Morgan’s mare. It was bad enough that she rode a horse purchased with stolen money and wore gowns from the same source. She would start out in the New World with only honest wages.

  Toby held his tongue and shook his head after they arrived in Portsmouth, and Faith argued the ship’s captain into taking the mare in exchange for their passage. Having no knowledge of the cost of the journey, Toby couldn’t decide if the deal were a fair one or not, but the tears in Faith’s eyes as she said her farewells to the horse were enough to make a man weep.

  He had reason enough for second thoughts in all the weeks that followed.

  ***

  Faith groaned and turned green as the ship hit another swell. Even the fact that Toby had just arrived to tell her that land had been sighted wasn’t sufficient to ease the churning of her insides. The brazier barely heated the cold and damp from the tiny cabin, and the weevily bread and watered soup that had been their fare this past week made her ill just to think of. Huddled in her blanket, Faith turned and retched over the chamber pot and wished Toby and the rest of the world to hell.

  Perhaps God hadn’t thought her sufficiently punished. Perhaps she should not have taken the mare or the gowns, but left the cottage as she had arrived. As another wave of illness swept over her, Faith knew that to be impossible. She wasn’t the same as she had arrived. She had to give the child what few advantages she could.