Ravenworthe

by Ginny Hartman

  When he was satisfied there was nothing in plain sight, he stood up and hefted the weighty piece of furniture forward, just enough that he could reach behind it. Returning to the ground, he slid his hand behind the sideboard and gasped with satisfaction when his fingers found something small and hard. Pulling the object out, he held it before his face and inspected it. It was a small, amber-colored vial.

  Leaning back on his haunches, he uncorked the bottle and took a whiff. Sure enough, the vile smelled faintly of almonds indicating it was the deadly prussic acid, validating his suspicions that Mr. Godwin had been poisoned before being stabbed.

  The next se'nnight went by in a blur of activity. Colin was busy working on the case while Bridget's every waking moment was occupied by Beatrice's demands for her attention. Mostly she loved it, but she was beginning to feel indebted to Colin for graciously allowing them to continue on as guests in his home, eating his food, utilizing his servants, and even using his carriage on occasion.

  She often feared they were distracting him from his work and worried his reputation was at stake by taking in two unwed women under his roof.

  Once, she dared voice her concerns to him, only to have him disregard them with the wave of his hand. “My reputation is of no concern to me; it's yours I fear is ruined by all of this scandal.”

  “I never had an outstanding reputation,” she pointed out. “I'm the daughter of a merchant who's securely on the shelf. The only reason we were allowed any access to the ton was because of father's wealth. People only cared to associate with his money, not with us.”

  The look on his face told her he understood perfectly. “Any reputation I've gained is because of my skill, not because of my person. I can sympathize with you, but perhaps you can empathize with me when I say I don't give a fig about what any of those shallow people think of me, as they have no lasting bearing on the quality of my life.”

  “Except where your employment is concerned,” she pointed out.

  “People always need detectives; I imagine I'll still receive plenty of work.”

  He sounded so sure, but Bridget couldn't help but doubt there would be no ramifications for the scandal. The ton liked to thumb up their nose at anyone who behaved unseemly, no matter the reason.

  With this concern in mind, she decided one day while Colin was out to rent a hackney and make a trip to the bank so she could withdraw funds to give him. Though she knew he'd be offended by her offer, she would insist he take it, if only to cover the cost of the food they'd been eating. Heaven knew Beatrice consumed her fair share. And besides, there were a few personal items she needed that she would never dare ask Colin to provide for her.

  “Finch?”

  The butler, who had fast become a dear association of hers, turned as she came down the hall wearing a black high waisted gown befitting someone in mourning, and a matching bonnet with minimal trim. The day was warm, so she opted not to wear a pelisse.

  “Yes, Miss Godwin? May I be of some assistance to you?”

  “Would you arrange for a hackney? I have some errands to see to.”

  “Of course. Also, Mr. Ravenworthe wanted me to notify you he received word from Esplin Place this morning.”

  Bridget sucked in a breath. Colin had written hoping to discover if her mother had gone home to the country, but until now they hadn't heard anything. “And? Did he tell you what the missive revealed?”

  “The housekeeper wrote, informing Mr. Ravenworthe that your family is not in residence and have made no contact with the staff. It remains a mystery where they are.”

  To be frank, Bridget was shocked by the news. She assumed her mother had a perfectly good excuse for returning home and would send word explaining her hasty departure soon. It was hard for her to stomach the thought that her mother purposefully abandoned both her and Beatrice, and the suspicion that arose as a result was even more unsettling.

  She squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine, trying to ignore the emotion that suddenly surfaced. Clearing her voice, she said, “Very well. I suppose Mr. Ravenworthe will know how to proceed.”

  “Oh, of a certainty. You can trust him, Miss Godwin.”

  That much she knew, but the news made her even more determined to get funds to help Colin with the household expenses and burden of taking on her and Beatrice.

  Her mind was in turmoil as she sat in the rented hackney as it rolled along towards Bishopsgate where her father's bank, Baring Brothers & Co., was located. Was her mother responsible for her father's death? No! She couldn't fathom the thought. It was more likely Uncle Jasper was, and her mother was now in harm's way as well. The thought made her anxiousness increase. Though it was true her mother and her didn't get along too well; she didn't wish to see her dead. The thought made her shudder.

  Putting her disturbing thoughts aside, Bridget made her way into the bank and asked to see Henry Baring, a man she'd met once before when coming to the bank with her father. She was asked to wait while Mr. Baring was located. She took a moment to look around but didn't fully appreciate the opulence of her surroundings because of her wayward thoughts.

  “Miss Godwin, Mr. Baring will see you now.”

  Bridget was led to a large office where Henry Baring was sitting behind a polished mahogany desk. He rose to his feet as she entered. “Miss Godwin, I'm sorry to hear of your father's death. Please accept my deepest sympathies. He was a good man.”

  “Thank you,” she managed to mumble as she took a seat, still trying valiantly to tamper her emotions.

  “How can I assist you today?”

  “I was hoping to withdraw some funds from father's account, for living expenses, and the like.”

  “Certainly. Do you have a specific amount in mind?” Bridget told him, hoping he wouldn't think it too high. He nodded his head and wrote it down on a piece of parchment in front of him. “And do you have the key?”

  “Pardon?” Bridget asked, unsure if she heard him correctly.

  Mr. Baring frowned deeply as a pit formed in Bridget's stomach. “The key your father assigned, allowing access to his fortune.”

  “I know nothing of such a thing. I have always been able to access money when I need it, and I imagine he's left a large portion to me in his will.”

  “Do you have a copy of the will for verification?”

  Bridget hung her head in defeat. “Nay, I do not.”

  “I do apologize, Miss Godwin, but without either, I'm not permitted to release any funds. If you can come back with the will or the key then I will be more than happy to assist you in withdrawing the amount you request.”

  “But that's just it, sir, I do not know how to acquire either of those items, and now that mother is gone...” her voice trailed off, fearful she said too much.

  “Where did your mother go?” Mr. Baring asked curiously.

  “Nevermind,” she said as she stood swiftly, eager to leave. “I will just have to find another way to secure the funds.”

  Turning on her heel, Bridget made to quit the room when Mr. Baring cleared his throat and called out, “Just a moment, I may be able to help you.”

  Bridget dared not hope, but she turned around slowly nonetheless. “How so?”

  “I can give you a small loan if you have something you can give me in exchange for collateral.”

  “I have nothing,” she huffed in exasperation.

  Mr. Baring's eyes dipped to her neck while one hand slowly went up to touch the simple emerald and pearl necklace hanging in the hollow of her throat. It had been a birthday gift from her parents several years ago.

  “You would loan me the funds I seek in exchange for this?” she asked skeptically.

  “I would not be able to give you the full amount you seek, only half, and you'd still be required to make payments against the loan. It's the best I can do.”

  Bridget contemplated his offer. Knowing it wasn't what she'd hoped for but would be the best she'd get, she finally said, “Very well,” as she slid the necklace from her
neck and set it on the desk between them.

  A quarter of an hour later, Bridget left the bank with the money tucked safely into her reticule. She returned to Colin's townhouse, feeling disheartened. Her mood blackened further when she learned that Beatrice was having a fit, a fact attested to by the loud shouting that echoed throughout the house.

  She quickly undid the ribbons on her bonnet and handed it to Finch, who looked pained by the terrible noise as she muttered, “Let's pray I can diffuse her.”

  “Oh, yes, let us pray,” Finch said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

  Bridget hurried up the stairs where she found Ruth with Beatrice in her bedchamber.

  “Don't make me touch it,” Beatrice was sobbing, her entire body shaking violently.

  Ruth was attempting to comfort her, but every time she got close, Beatrice would scream and recoil. “Beatrice, I would never harm you. Please believe that.” There were tears in Ruth's eyes as well.

  Bridget stepped between the two and at once reached for her sister, trying not to cry herself when Beatrice pulled away from her too. “What's going on, Bea? What has gotten you so upset?”

  “I wanna leave, I wanna leave here and never come back.”

  Alarm filled Bridget's breast. Beatrice had never complained about being at Colin's and wondered what had occurred in her absence to cause such a drastic change. Turning to Ruth, she asked, “What has happened? What is wrong with her?”

  Ruth's chin quivered as she explained, “We were playing a game of hide-and-seek. Beatrice was supposed to hide while I counted. When I found her, she was in Mr. Ravenworthe's study, holding a dagger in each hand. I was afeared she'd hurt herself, but I had not to worry for she threw them across the room as if they had burned her than at once became hysterical. I've tried my best to calm her but to no avail. She's been having a fit ever since.”

  Bridget gasped, knowing precisely what daggers she had found. She turned back to Beatrice, with more compassion this time. “My dear Bea, I'm so sorry you had to see those knives again. I can imagine how upsetting that was for you. Come here, let me soothe you.”

  “You can't make me touch it. I won't do it, I won't,” she screamed.

  “Of course you don't have to touch them. You don't even have to see them again. You should never have gone into Mr. Ravenworthe's study in the first place, but that's beside the point. Come, you must calm down.”

  “The dagger killed Papa, not me,” Beatrice insisted shrilly, still in hysterics.

  Bridget began to worry her sister was going to swoon. “Beatrice, you must sit down and try to calm yourself. We know you didn't kill Papa. Colin is working furiously to try and figure out who did. Until then, we must remain here where it is safe for you.”

  “Don't make me touch it,” she demanded, though slightly less urgent this time.

  “Of course not. I'd never make you do anything of the sort.”

  Bridget put her arms around Beatrice, and this time she didn't recoil. She urged her towards the fire and forced her stiff body to bend into the chair so she wouldn't collapse. Pulling her handkerchief from her sleeve, she began wiping at the tears on Beatrice's face.

  “Don't make me, Bridget, don't make me,” Beatrice repeated over and over in a distressing fashion, though the sobbing was slowly subsiding.

  “I've promised you I won't, and you must trust me.”

  Beatrice's ramblings trailed off, and the room fell into silence. “Ruth, please go fetch Beatrice some tea to help restore her.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  When Ruth was gone, Bridget slid to her knees before Beatrice and took both hands into her own, wondering if she dared inquire about her sister's concerns or if her questioning would only cause further distress. She decided to take her chance and pry, though she wasn't hopeful she'd get very far.

  “Bea, you've held Papa's dagger before, the night he was killed. Did somebody force you to do it?”

  “I didn't kill Papa; the dagger killed Papa.”

  “I know that, Bea. I'm the one who is fighting to keep you from Bedlam, or worse. But if you know anything that could help us in our pursuit of finding who really killed Papa, I need you to tell me. Did someone force you to take the dagger and do what was done to Papa?”

  Beatrice pinched her lips together tightly and crossed her arms across her chest in defiance. Bridget sighed in defeat, knowing Beatrice wasn't going to say a word. Her sister was stubborn when she wanted to be, and it was clear that now was one of those times.

  “Fine, don't help yourself then,” Bridget snapped in disgust as she picked herself up off the ground. By now, Ruth had returned with tea. “See if she'll get some rest after her tea. It would be best for everyone.”

  Bridget left the bedchamber, frustrated with Beatrice, but even more disgusted with herself for letting her frustration show. She never lost patience with her sister and felt enormously guilty for doing so now. Perhaps some rest would do her good as well.

  Colin was sitting in his study when a soft knock distracted him from his work. He glanced towards the door and said, “Come in,” and watched with a faint smile as Bridget entered.

  He'd come home last night to a quiet house, and much to his regret hadn't seen either sister the entire evening. He inquired after their welfare but was only told they'd retired early because of fatigue. His face fell as he noted the dark circles beneath Bridget's eyes, standing out in stark contrast to her alabaster skin.

  “Are you well?” he asked as he hurried to her, taking her shoulders into his hands. He inspected her face with concern.

  “I take it no one told you about yesterday afternoon?”

  “No,” he said slowly. Bridget quickly filled him in on what had taken place with Beatrice. When she was done, he cursed. “I had those daggers locked in my drawer. She must have found the key. I'm sorry she had to experience the sight of them.”

  “'Tis no fault of your own. She kept insisting I not force her to touch them, but when I inquired about who had forced her in the past to do such a thing, she clammed up and refused to tell me. I don't believe she held the dagger of her own accord.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “But that's not the entire reason I came to speak with you.” Bridget reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew several bank notes, which she shoved towards him. “I wanted to give you this.”

  “Bridget, I told you I did not expect you to pay me any more than you already have.”

  “It's to cover the food we've eaten and the cost of Ruth's employ. You shouldn't be responsible for either expense.”

  “I refuse to accept it.” He was offended by her offer. He had sufficient means to pay for what they needed and didn't see it as an imposition.

  She thrust the notes at him once more. “Don't be stubborn, Colin, just take it.”

  Colin laughed. “You're the stubborn one, little kitten. I've already made it clear that I wouldn't take your money.”

  Bridget stomped her foot in frustration. “Why are you so kind?”

  “Would you rather me not be?” he asked, amused.

  “I went to great lengths to acquire this. The banker informed me I couldn't access any of my father's money, so I had to use my necklace as collateral for a loan.”

  “Bridget, come here,” he said as he opened up his arms and waited for her to approach. She fit so perfectly against him, he thought, as he breathed in her soft, feminine scent. “I appreciate your sacrifice, but it was unnecessary. I want you to believe me when I say all that I have you are welcome to. I have every intention of asking for your hand when this is behind us, and, if you accept, then all that I have truly will be yours, and you'll have to become comfortable with that fact.”

  Blue eyes, bright with wonder, looked up at him. “You'd really want to align your life with mine? Even despite my horrible family?”

  He chuckled as he confessed, “I like Beatrice just fine, it's the others I can do without, but I will take them all if it means I get you in th
e bargain.”

  She searched his face, and for a moment he worried she would reject him until she admitted, “I feel unworthy of your offer.” She continued to tug on his heartstrings as she explained, “If something has happened to Mother, then I will be left to care for Beatrice, something you do not need to take on indefinitely.”

  Cupping her face in his hands, Colin stared intently into Bridget's eyes. His voice was firm yet filled with sincerity as he said, “Make no mistake, my dear, I would be honored to have you under any circumstance. I would take a life with you and Beatrice any day over returning to a life of loneliness and agony without you. I've had a glimpse of what love can feel like, and it's left me wanting more. I long for each minute I get to bask in your company, yearning for the taste of you, the feel of you in my arms. I never thought of myself as incomplete until you came and completed me.”

  “And what if I can never find the key to access father's money? I will be penniless and bring nothing to our marriage. Does that not concern you?” Her questions gave Colin pause, which Bridget misinterpreted as she babbled on, “Men do not seem to like to take on the burden of a wife without financial compensation, and I will not hold you accountable for feeling the same.”

  “Bridget,” Colin said, giving a sardonic laugh. “Enough talk about money. My feelings for you have nothing to do with any of that. You mistook my pause for something it was not. I only latched on to your comment about needing a key to access your father's money. I assure you that it was the only thing that caused my hesitancy. If you deem me unworthy of your affection, then please tell me now so I can lower my hopes and save myself from further heartache.”

  “Oh, no,” she gasped. “I didn't mean to make you think that. Colin, the only measure of happiness I've felt since this ordeal began is because of you. You've infused my heart with hope and given me something to cling to when I felt as if despair would overtake me. You are kind and gentle and ever-so-generous, and I would be honored to be your wife at some future day if you decide to ask me officially.”