The Secret Life of Lady Evangeline

by Jan Davis Warren

  Helen had encouraged Evangeline with prayers and insisted God had a plan. As the innkeeper’s wife, she could ferret out information without people realizing they had revealed their secrets.

  Surely Helen knew that her husband was up to no good. Did she also know he was involved with the imposter claiming to be Lord Brighton’s cousin? If so, why hadn’t she mentioned her suspicions?

  Evangeline reached the entrance and set down the herb basket. The heavy door required both hands to release the latch. She leaned the sword against the wall and pulled aside the thick ivy, her fingers searching for the cleverly hidden lock. The earthy smells of the vines mixed with the moss-covered stones stirred up memories of past excursions, making her eager to be inside.

  A pebble hit her shoulder, and she wheeled around, scooped up the sword and took a fighting stance.

  Fog rose from the ground encircling the lower portion of a ghostly specter in a dark hooded cape, which gave it the appearance of floating above the ground. A sword glinted at the specter’s side.

  The boys’ talk of the avenging ghosts elevated her fear until all she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears.

  “I have not been given a spirit of fear but of power, love, and a sound mind.” She mumbled the holy words she’d memorized while living with the nuns and squeezed the hilt of her sword tighter. The cold metal cut into her palms.

  The cloaked specter moved toward her, parting the fog in a swirl of motion.

  Chapter 6

  “Evangeline.”

  The ethereal whisper of her name backed Evangeline farther into the thick ivy. A flush of childish terror stirred up old nightmares of the castle’s own avenging spirits.

  She couldn’t escape. The door pressing against her back was hard to open. Dropping her sword to free her hands to work the mechanism was not an option. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She drew in a deep breath, to calm her frantic thoughts, and straightened with determination. Murmuring every Holy Scripture that came to mind, she waited to meet the apparition with the sword of the Spirit and the sharp edge of her blade.

  “Evangeline, tis only me.” The specter came closer and pushed back the hood of her dark cloak.

  “Helen!” Evangeline dropped the sword and rushed to her friend. They hugged as if they hadn’t seen each other in decades, but a lot had happened since that morning.

  “T’was you watching us in the forest?”

  “Aye, I needed to speak with ye, and knew you’d be headed to the castle, but the boys found ye first.”

  “Did you hear Ox and Evanwood just now?” Evangeline wished she could see her friend’s features, but the darkness of the alcove and the thickening fog made it impossible.

  “Aye, I heard.” Her voice held a weary resignation. “I’ve known for some time of Ox’s acquaintance with Evanwood, whose real name is Urso Hemming.”

  “When did you find out?” Evangeline kept her words low, but she wanted to shout at her friend for withholding this vital information.

  “Today, after I returned from the mill. Ox was in his cups and plying a passing traveler with ale. Too drunk to walk, he demanded I fetch his special brandy. He threw me the key to his room, which he always keeps locked. The space was filthy and the stench overpowering. I tripped over discarded clothing and fell against the fireplace. A loose brick fell out. Hidden in the hole, I found a small pouch of gold and some papers, one of which was a wanted poster. Leaving the rest, I took the poster and replaced the brick. After I delivered the brandy, I slipped away to read the parchment. It had a good likeness of Hemming’s face on it, along with the amount of a hefty reward. Ox had written the details of Hemming’s crime on the back.” She tugged her cloak tighter to ward off the chill. “Hemming was once a tutor for the children of the king’s chancellor until he was caught in the act of forcing himself on his employer’s fifteen-year-old daughter. He barely escaped with his life.” Helen’s voice relayed her disgust. “Ox must have spotted him as a guilty man with a secret the first night he showed up at the pub. His typical way to extract information is to get his victim drunk and then pry the details from his loose lips.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me Ox and Evanwood, I mean Hemming were in this together?” Evangeline’s exhaustion made it hard to talk but her disappointment was evident.

  “Forgive me, but until I knew for sure I couldn’t risk telling you knowing you might do something you might later regret.” She took a deep breath and released it. “I had my suspicions, but no proof Ox was behind Hemming’s treachery until now.” Her voice cracked, revealing her grief. “Nor that he had succumbed to such greed as to starve and murder innocent folk.” She touched Evangeline’s shoulder. “I’m glad that the truth is out in the open so justice can deal with them accordingly, but.” She paused. “I have graver news to relate.”

  Her weariness hung as heavy as chains and filled Evangeline with dread.

  “What could be worse than this?” Then she knew. “Henry!”

  “Aye.” Her friend lowered her voice.

  “How? Where?” Evangeline fought the panic that rose within her.

  “Wren reported that she heard about a carriage that veered off the road and headed down the overgrown lane toward the Danby’s farm. Since no one goes there, she went there to find out why. Just as she arrived, a horse and rider appeared. The gent was knocked off his steed by a man using a limb to erase the carriage tracks.”

  “Henry was the rider?”

  “Aye.”

  “Was he hurt? Did she see the child?” Evangeline’s voice became deeper and more gravelly with every question. “What—”

  “Stop.” Helen sounded as weary as Evangeline felt. “All I know is that he was captured by the brigands who passed us on the road. He, the child, and nursemaid are alive, but held prisoner.”

  “I should…”

  “You’re trembling with exhaustion. You must go inside and rest. I’ll pray and ask God for wisdom and a plan. You do the same, and we’ll see how best to go about saving us all.”

  “You’re right.” As much as Evangeline wanted to rush to the farm to free the prisoners, she knew her strength was too far gone to risk a battle she could not win in her present condition. “Won’t you come with me? We’ve always worked better as a team.” She paused. “And it’s too dangerous to go back to the Black Swan since we know of Ox’s plan to murder you.”

  “I’ll be safe tonight.” She chuckled. “I took the horse he left tied in the forest. He’ll have a long walk back. With his gout, it will take him all the night and part of the morning. I’ll bolt the inn’s doors against the blackheart and rest easy. Tomorrow, he’ll be in a foul mood but will want only his bed and enough ale to ease his pain. I’ll slip him a draught. While he slumbers, I’ll listen to the gossip of the inn’s patrons for any further sightings or rumors of the brigands, Lord Evanwood, or any who might hinder the rescue of Henry and the babe.” She helped Evangeline disengage the latch and open the door then picked up the sword and the basket of herbs and placed them inside the tunnel. “In with ye. Can ye find the candle and flint?”

  The dank smell of the narrow space had always filled Evangeline with the dread of being trapped. Her hands shook as she searched the darkness, touching the mossy walls to find the ledge and the earthen bowl and a tallow candle she’d left behind years ago. She’d used the passage to escape after her aunt demanded Evangeline leave the castle and go to London to be presented at court. She’d hid in the forest until her father found her. Only after he agreed to accompany her did she submit to her aunt’s plans. She met Henry in London at the king’s ball.

  Brushing away thick spider webs that touched her face, she tried not to think of what else may have taken up residence in the tunnel since last she’d gone this way. The sticky webs clung to her hands. She scrubbed her palms against the rough texture of the rock wall and located the stone outcropping.

  “Yes. Here they are.” She worked the flint several times over a small bowl of dried m
oss. A spark settled, and a flame took hold long enough to light the candle. A cool breeze flowed through the open door behind her and threatened to blow out the fire. She turned to protect the flickering light with her body. The door shut firmly behind her and the flame steadied. Her friend was gone.

  Chapter 7

  Evangeline climbed the back stairs and slipped unnoticed into her old bedchamber, hoping the familiar surroundings would ease her exhaustion, both physical and emotional. She opened the leaded glass window to air out the musty room and then tugged off her clothing. To keep the sword within reach, she hid it among the heavy fabric of the canopy that hung in thick folds at the corners of her bed. She untied the leather strips of the pouch filled with gold from her waist, she almost cried with relief. The heavy load had rubbed her skin raw. Released from her burden, she shoved the pouch under her pillow. She climbed onto the feather mattress and tugged the down-filled blanket over her. Her father’s room was on the same floor as hers making it easy to slip out in the morning to see him.

  She yawned and turned to her side, then her back, unable to find a comfortable position. After so long sleeping on grass-woven mats on the hard floor of the old abbey, since she’d returned, the feather mattress refused to comfort her. Frustrated, she pulled the blanket to the floor, stretched out and fell fast asleep.

  The early morning sun shone on her face through the opened window. She awakened with a start. A complaint when she was young, the sunshine now served her well. Rising, she searched her wardrobe and found a strip of lamb’s wool once attached to her hunting bow as a sling. She tied the wool around her tender waist and secured the gold around her midsection before dressing. She kissed the cross and settled it about her neck with a whispered thanks to God. Once again being safe within the keep and near her father were reasons to be grateful. Rather than turn the sword over to be used against innocent folk, she tucked it in the wardrobe behind the silks and brocades of her past life, she remade the bed to eliminate any sign of her presence.

  If her aunt were still alive, she would have been appalled and lectured Evangeline for at least an hour for doing a servant’s tasks. It had happened too many times to count.

  As a child, Evangeline had shunned the bitter old woman who didn’t know how to give comfort or receive the love of a grieving ten-year-old. A prideful woman, her aunt had been left at the altar. Humiliated, she escaped to London and joined a convent. Unlike the kind and giving nuns who had saved Evangeline’s life, her aunt had found no solace in her vows, holding on to her anger and pain. She never forgave the man who drove her away from her highborn life. Over thirty years after the wedding that wasn’t to be, still miserable living a sacrificial existence as a nun, she had eagerly accepted Lord Brighton’s request to serve as ten-year-old Evangeline’s tutor. Once again in the castle where she’d grown up, the old nun ran the household and young Evangeline with an autocratic iron fist. She died a month before Evangeline’s return home from the convent where she’d been living, while the nuns healed her burns.

  Evangeline sighed. After being taught the use of medicinal herbs to heal and ease pain, she regretted not returning in time to help relieve her aunt’s suffering and tell her she forgave her.

  More regrets to add to the long list she kept in her heart. She knew now how bitterness and betrayal poisoned the soul. God’s love and forgiveness were the only antidotes, but first one had to want the freedom. He brought more than the promise of revenge.

  In her childish rebellion against the strict dictates of her aunt, she’d found her revenge by learning the use of weapons of warfare, taught by the captain of the guards. Captain Ezra Browne was an experienced soldier and friend of her father who had taken pity on a grieving child that wanted an escape for that grief. The more dangerous the exercise, the harder she trained. First, because the old nun would have forbid it, then later because she loved the strenuous activity and the strategy of combat. There was great satisfaction in finding the weakness to best her opponent.

  The past was unchangeable. Evangeline must put her mind to besting the evil men ravaging the land. Forgiving her aunt had come in time, but those who harmed the innocent didn’t deserve God’s mercy.

  With renewed determination, she picked up the basket of herbs and checked the corridor to make sure it was empty before she made her way to her father’s chambers down the hall.

  Quietly, she opened the heavy door and slipped into his room. The familiar smells surrounded her with peace and happy memories of her childhood. The scents of leather from the two large hide-covered chairs that faced a big fireplace blended with wood smoke that permeated the space. The huge hearth crackled with a fire, warming the room even on a summer’s day because of her father’s frail health. White hair like wispy goose down, framed his head and pillow. His eyes opened, but a milky film hindered him from seeing. He turned toward her.

  “So, Sister, you’ve come to check on this old man?” He smiled when she stopped. “I know your tread, and you always bring the smell of herbs and sunshine with you.”

  “It is I, Lord Brighton.” Her grief made the burden of truth harder to conceal. She hurried to his side. “How are you feeling this glorious day?” Her voice was husky with emotion and a sudden need to feel her father’s reassuring arms around her. She wanted to confide everything and beg him for advice, but her need to protect him from the criminals around him was greater. They would kill him and her if they knew she lived and could spoil their ruse with legal action and the king’s army. According to the servants, her father had remained cooperative, because of the so-called earl’s threat to murder every servant and villager if Lord Brighton gave them any trouble. But her father would have a plan to rid himself of these murderers.

  “Better now that you are here, my sweet Evangeline, or should I continue to call you Sister Margaret Mary?”

  She gasped, and he laughed.

  “You know?”

  “I’ve known from the beginning. The reason for your disguise and allowing everyone to think you dead, now those are questions that have caused me many sleepless nights.” He struggled to rise in the bed. “However, I’ve played along with your ruse believing you must have a good reason. Every visit I had hoped that you would trust me with the truth.”

  Evangeline brushed aside the veil covering her face and leaned near to help him sit, tucking pillows behind his back.

  “From your letters, I thought you and Henry were happy. What happened?” He patted the bed beside him. “It is time you tell me, daughter. All of it.”

  She threw herself into his arms. Tears clogged her voice as she told him her sad tale, sparing only her guise as the Fox.

  “Henry and I were very happy, even more so after we found out I was with child.” Evangeline cleared her throat. “Henry’s parents, our friends, and even the servants were thrilled to know there would soon be another generation of Stanton’s in resident, especially since the death of Henry’s younger brother. Our lives were blissful until the day Millicent arrived acting the grieving widow. Within a week, she had the entire castle in an uproar over the seeds of lies she spread. She set friends against friends among the servants and guards and soon after, Henry against me.” Evangeline brushed an unexpected tear from her cheek, surprised the old hurt had surfaced with her tale. “He ignored the truth of the matter and my pleas to send her away.”

  “Because he felt to send his brother’s widow away would dishonor his brother’s memory.” Her father patted her hand.

  “Yes, that was his excuse, but I felt as if he were choosing her over our happiness.” She straightened and leaned against the pillows. “Her lies spread doubts in Henry’s mind over my fidelity until one evening just as we retired he demanded to know the name of the father of my child.” Her tone rose harsh with anger. “That is when I asked him to leave our chambers and sleep elsewhere.”

  “You did what that evil woman could not by barring Henry from your presence.” Lord Brighton’s tone was soft but his words hit hard.<
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  “As it neared my time, I had a hard time resting. One evening someone knocked at my door, I thought it was the servant who had gone to fetch me some warm milk. I opened the door and found Henry. I had missed him and hoped he’d come to tell me the wicked wench was gone. He appeared worried and wanted to talk. Before I could let him inside, Millicent walked up behind him and put a possessive hand on his shoulder, which he ignored. With a wicked smile of a tormentor, that harlot let her robe drape open to reveal she had nothing on beneath. I slammed the door and bolted it. Henry pounded on it for several minutes until the servants came and ushered him away.” Evangeline twisted the corner of the comforter into a sharp point wishing it were a dagger in Millicent’s heart. “I went into labor that night and for two days my sole thought was to have my baby and leave that place.” She smoothed the comforter flat again. “I was too weak to protest her appearance after I delivered my baby, I barely remember the midwife tell me it was a little girl before Millicent sent everyone out. She told me the baby had died and my servants couldn’t attend me because they were tending to the baby’s burial. I was devastated but that wasn’t enough for Millicent. She told me because my mother couldn’t have more children and give you an heir, I would never be able to give Henry a male heir.”

  “My poor baby.” He hugged her tight and released her. “There is no reason that you cannot have many healthy children.” He patted her shoulder. “I assumed you knew that your mother’s problem with carrying a child was not a weakness passed on from her ancestors but from an unfortunate accident.” He slumped back into the pillows and took a deep breath and released it.

  “Our parents betrothed us while we were still children. By the time we married, we were very much in love. We were wed only a short time when she realized she was with child.

  His grin stirred up a memory of Henry’s similar expression of joy when Evangeline had told him of his impending fatherhood.