The Secret Life of Lady Evangeline

by Jan Davis Warren

  Thump.

  It came from overhead.

  Henry!

  Evangeline hugged little Sarah to her side and raced up the stairs followed by Griswold, who cursed every step of the way for being bothered.

  Henry lay still as death in a crumbled heap on the floor.

  “Get him back in bed.” Evangeline stepped out of the way.

  Griswold let loose another string of vile words but grabbed Henry under the arms and heaved him onto the bed like a sack of potatoes. He grabbed Henry’s feet and legs and none too gently shoved them onto the disheveled bedding.

  “I’ll need more water.” Evangeline righted the wood crate used as a table and picked up the now empty bucket. She held it out for Griswold to go and fill.

  “I ain’t your servant.” He added more colorful words for emphasis and crossed his arms in defiance. “Tie him down. I ain’t pickin’ ‘im up again.” Griswold scowled at the whimpering baby. “And quiet the babe ’fore someone who ’ates noise comes up ’ere and does her harm.” When Evangeline did not flinch, he grabbed the bucket and stomped back down the stairs. His thunderous voice reverberated up to the attic room, as he spewed his anger at the still blubbering Rebecca. “Shut up, wench, or I’ll lock you in that haunted cellar and let the rats feast on your face.”

  The nursemaid quieted, but, after what she’d done to little Sarah, Evangeline felt the cellar wouldn’t be punishment enough.

  She put Sarah against her father’s right side and the baby snuggled up to him cooing, “Da, da, da.”

  Henry groaned as Evangeline checked his ribs. The bandage around his head had blood on it. No doubt his fall had reopened his wound. The dressing needed to be changed and only then could she assess the damage.

  Even unconscious, he patted the child and smiled.

  A wave of compassion morphed into anger for the lies that had cost her time with her baby.

  Four days after the birth of her child, thinking her baby had died, she was sent off to the hunting lodge to heal. Another two days passed without a word from Henry, and, in her disappointment and weariness, she’d ignored the prickles of danger. A memory full of regrets was forever burned into her mind, as were the scars that etched her body.

  She put a fresh bandage on Henry’s head wound and tried to ignore the loud voices coming from below.

  “Oh, she’ll pay more after the deed’s done.” The voice belonged to the man in her nightmares. “Doing her ladyships’ bidding has cost me aplenty.”

  Evangeline’s hands shook and she covered her ears.

  “Burn, wench! You’ve cost me aplenty.” The memory wouldn’t stop. As if caught in a rogue wave, it dragged her under. She couldn’t breathe.

  Sun barely up, with a thunder of hooves, the hired assassins arrived, which stirred her from her breakfast of tea and toast. Battle cries of her guards echoed through the clear morning followed by the clink of swords. Her handmaiden, Dorcas, had hurried out of the room to lock the front door. Dorcas screamed then only silence. Evangeline looked out a window. Her stomach roiled at what she saw.

  Three brigands stood over her dead guards.

  “Lady Stanton? Come out.” The brigand’s demand left no doubt why he had come. By the blood lust in his eyes, this was not to be a mere kidnapping.

  “I can handle her ladyship.” The leader pushed through the door and signaled the other two men to remain outside “She’s pale as a lily. You’ll be no trouble, will you Lady Stanton?” He edged toward Evangeline slowly as a predator stalking a deer.

  “Who hired you?” Her question was more to distract. Frantic, Evangeline sent forth silent, desperate prayers for help. The larder had a heavy oak door which could be secured on the inside in an emergency. She edged her way to the doorway.

  “Someone who wants you dead, m’lady.” He leapt in front of her, grabbed her by the waist and slammed her into a heavy log table. A dagger with a deer horn handle tumbled from its stand.

  Anger filled her with strength, as the brigand pinned her against the wall and pawed at her bodice.

  Her fingers closed over the hilt. She swung it up with a vicious swipe, cutting his face, taking out his eye.

  “Arrgh!” He knocked her to the ground and staggered away, stumbling to the front door. “Help me, you fools!” Amidst his curses and screams of outrage, his cohorts pulled him outside. “Burn the wench to death!”

  Smoke quickly filled the rooms. They had set the lodge on fire.

  Flaming embers fell on top of her and set her clothing on fire. She tore off her burning outer garments. Debris fell like punishment from hell. The smoke-heated air scorched her throat.

  The roar of the fire was deafening as it growled and spit flames around her, a monstrous dragon that grew more ferocious with every hiss, consuming all in its path.

  Climbing over burning rafters that had fallen in her path, she made it to the larder only to find the roof there also on fire. Defeated and resigned to her fate, she lay on the stone floor.

  A mouse ran over her hand and she opened her eyes in time to see it disappear into a hole in the wall. She reached out a hand. The log wall crumbled beneath her touch. Turning her focus again to her escape, she clawed at the rotting wood until the outside air flowed in without restriction.

  Fresh air brought renewed strength to survive.

  Flaming debris dropped all around her. An iron pan fell at her side. She used it to pound against the exterior making the hole larger with each blow.

  Blazing timber from the roof fell, igniting the space all around her, portions hit her back. Excruciating pain. Her clothing was on fire. She couldn’t wait any longer.

  The opening was barely wide enough to escape.

  Her heart pounded, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Reliving that moment made every scar burn with fresh intensity.

  Those brigands had been nowhere to be seen when she collapsed outside in a smoldering heap, but she’d never forget the man who had caused her such pain.

  Her hand clutched the heavy cross that hung around her neck. One-eye would be dealt the cold blade of hot revenge before the sun set on this day.

  Forgiveness is always better than revenge, Evangeline. At the convent, Sister Katherine had counseled her daily during the times she doctored Evangeline’s burns, an excruciating ordeal. Revenge is Mine, saith the Lord.

  Henry moaned drawing her attention back to her task and she finished replacing his dressing.

  “Where am I?” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. Thankfully, he appeared to have trouble focusing. She pulled loose of his hold and tugged her veil back in place.

  “You and your daughter are being held hostage by a band of brigands.” She watched as he tensed and tried to sit. She pushed him back down.

  “Get out of my way. I need to get to Sarah.” Panic and determination creased his features.

  “She’s right there beside you.”

  He twisted until he found Sarah’s sleeping form by his side. With a heart-wrenching sigh, he relaxed, encircling his daughter protectively with his arm.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Sister Margaret Mary. I was brought here to minister to your wounds.” She walked to the doorway and listened to the rumble of an argument from below. She crept back to the bed to stare down at Henry. “We need to escape. These men are murders and thieves. They were hired to kill the child but now they plan to sell her.” Her voice lowered, edged with the steel of purpose. “I will not let that happen.”

  “They cannot.” His voice sounded weary but determined.

  Footsteps coming up the stairs made her jump.

  “Sh-h. Pretend to be sleeping.” Relieved he did as she bid, Evangeline moved to the window and glanced down. Was that Wren standing by that large oak on the edge of the yard?

  “I’ve been sent up here to fetch you.” Rebecca appeared at the doorway, her voice tearful. Through a tear in her sleeve, Evangeline saw a purple bruise and some scratches on her arm.

  Conc
ern made Evangeline reach out to the young woman.

  She raised a hand as if to ward off a blow and stepped back unsteadily, dangerously close to the stairway.

  “What happened to you?” Evangeline tugged her forward and away from the stairs.

  “Nothing that hasn’t happened before.” She swiped away her tears on the tattered fabric and grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling.

  “Who did this to you?” Evangeline fingered the dagger hidden at her side. Her anger made her tone low and her words raspy.

  “Someone who I ne’er ’oped to see again.” Her body shook as she stepped inside the room. Rebecca dropped down on the only other chair in the room as if her legs had suddenly refused to work.

  Evangeline handed her a cup of water.

  The nanny’s hand trembled, requiring both palms to steady the cup enough to drink. Her eyes held hatred. “I will have my revenge when he least expects it.”

  “I assume you haven’t always been a nursemaid?” Evangeline watched as the hatred left her eyes, and she blinked back more tears.

  “You cain’t tell nobody, ’cause you’re of the church, right?” The girl dropped her voice and her gaze darted around the room as if searching for a listener. Henry’s eyes were closed and a slow, steady rise and fall of his chest made him appear as no threat.

  “Yes, nuns are required to take vows to protect the person’s confidence whenever they hear confessions.” Which was true, real nuns are required to take such vows. It was a hair she’d split many times over the months after coming to her father’s realm. Since her persona as Sister Margaret Mary represented the only member of the church around, she’d been forced to hear many confessions and give advice. She’d simply repeated the wise answers given by the nuns whom she’d overheard during her stay at the convent.

  “I shouldn’t have believed ’er.” Rebecca pushed the fallen strands of hair from her face. More tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “I was born and raised in a brothel. That’s where I first met the monster downstairs.” She swiped the tears and ground her palms against her dress. “I escaped and found work at the castle of a rich merchant named Bellachia, as a scullery maid.” Her head came up and pride lit her eyes. “I was good at my job and free of my past.” A hint of a smile came and went.

  Evangeline didn’t try to hurry Rebecca for fear she’d shut down.

  “The old merchant was dead, but his daughter, Lady Millicent lived there with her ’usband. She approached me one evening as I was emptying chamber pots.”

  “And what did she want with you?” Evangeline couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice.

  “At first she only wanted me to do a few extra chores for her personally. She gave me gifts.”

  “Such as?”

  “One time she gave me a fine dress which only needed a bit of mendin’. She promised to learn me to be a lady’s maid.” After taking another sip of water, Rebecca set the cup down. “Once ’er ladyship gave me time off to visit my friend in the village when she found out Mimi grew herbs. I was to buy some for her, but had to keep it secret.” She fidgeted gazing at the floor. “Nightshade is poison.” Glancing up, she pursed her lips, and her expression held guilt. “But she assured me it was to kill the castle’s rat population.” The girl grew more confident as she spoke, though she twisted then smoothed her dress and repeated the gesture several times, evidence she was troubled by something. “Sir Robert died two days later.” Her eyes again pooled with tears as she looked up at Evangeline. “Does God blame me for ’is lordship’s death because I provided the poison?”

  An angry groan came from Henry, and the girl jerked toward him. Evangeline stepped between her and the bed to block her view of him. He was hearing the truth for the first time. How it must grieve him that he had protected his brother’s killer.

  “You’re sure it was the nightshade that killed him?”

  “Aye. I seen a cat what’s died because it ate a poisoned rat. His lordship looked exactly the same, all gray and…” Rebecca rubbed her eyes as if to get the image from her mind. She stood and paced to the window. “He didn’t deserve to die like a rat.” Her voice lowered. “Lord Stanton was always nice to the servants, not like her ladyship who went out of her way to be mean to those who had to serve her.”

  “How is it a scullery maid was sent on this trip with He…” She almost said Henry. “His lordship and the child?”

  “I tried to hide but ’er ladyship sent the guards to fetch me to her.” Rebecca went back to the rickety stool and sat. “One look and she could see I knowed what she’d done with the poison.” Rebecca worried the torn sleeve until it came off in her hands. No emotion crossed her features at the mutilated garment. Absently, she smoothed the fabric with her palm. “She threatened to tell everyone I had poisoned his lordship if I didn’t do as she said. Next she wanted the name of a cutthroat who would do anything for money. I gave her Deverow’s name and where to find ’im, but I wasn’t privy to their dealin’s. I was a feared she planned to sell me to ’im, but a week after ’is lordship’s funeral we left to go to Castle Stanton.” Tears again ran down her face. “I did all manner of spyin’ for her. I was there when she lied to Lady Evangeline that her child ’ad died.” Rebecca glanced up at Evangeline. “’ow can God let someone so evil live and take the life of someone so good?”

  Evangeline looked down at her clasped hands and shook her head. Not only did she not understand the plans of God, but knowing the deeds she’d done in her guise as the Fox, she was far from being innocent and therefore certainly not good in God’s eyes.

  “Her ladyship made sure the girl’s nanny was too ill to make the journey to Castle Brighton so I would ’ave to go in ’er place.” She drew a labored breath as if resigned to telling it all. “Lady Millicent read books on plants and herbs, and I saw ’er mixing potions. She could cure certain maladies and told me the potion she’d sent were to help calm the child during the long journey.” Sorrow furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry I caused ’arm to the child. Truly I am, I denna know.” She stood again and walked to the stairway and leaned over the stair rails before she came back and sat down, her voice again lowered to a whisper. “I know’d she was the one who hired these brigands. I seen ’er talking with a man with an eye patch in the stable several times. I denna know until today that it were Deverow. The bad scars on his face and eye patch changed his appearance but not him.”

  “She hired these kidnappers? Why?” Evangeline stood, her hands fisted. Millicent would someday face the king’s executioner.

  “I overheard ’im talking to the others after you went upstairs. They were paid to kill everyone on the carriage but Lord Henry. Deverow say he knows of a rich merchant whose wife is barren and desperate for a child.” Rebecca waved her hand in the direction of little Sarah sleeping next to her father. “I’m to be part of the deal.” Her expression grew hard. “I ain’t goin’ to be sold into slavery to no foreigner.” Her lips pinched into a hard line of determination. “You’re here now to protect the babe, so I can flee.” She stood and straightened her dress. Her gaze narrowed at Evangeline. “You canna tell anyone my plan or suffer whatever curse comes on those who breaks a holy vow.”

  Evangeline’s emotions swung from laughter to outrage at the bravado of the scullery maid’s declarations. No one was selling Sarah, and any who tried would pay with his rotten life.

  “Here, take these rags, wash them and hang them by the fire to dry.” The anger won out. Evangeline’s tone brooked no backtalk. “Do it now, before it gets dark.” She noticed the rebellion in the young woman’s stance. An idea came to mind, a way to keep the girl in line and stir up the men by planting seeds of fear. “The avenging spirits of old farmer Danby and his slain sons are upset by the evil in these men’s hearts. Those spirits do their worse at night, so I wouldn’t try to escape until morn’s first light.”

  Rebecca’s rebellious stance was replaced by sagging shoulders of defeat. With a huff, she gathered the soiled rags
and hurried down the stairs. Orders shouted at Rebecca demanding one thing then another when she appeared downstairs then an undistinguishable rush of high-pitched whine of Rebecca as she repeated Evangeline’s warning about the threat of avenging spirits. A hush fell over the downstairs after that. But for how long?

  “Is she gone?” Henry shifted to his side so he could watch Evangeline. The baby lay content against him. “I assume we are not waiting to escape until daylight?”

  “We need to leave, but I fear you would not get far in your condition.”

  “Then you must flee and take my daughter. Go to Brighton Castle and send help. I will be fine until the castle guards arrive.”

  “There will be no help coming from the castle. An imposter has taken over and there are no loyal men left to protect us.” She walked to the stairway to make sure none were there to overhear their plans. Voices speaking in tones so low she couldn’t hear the words meant they were too busy to bother with the captives upstairs. She walked back to Henry.

  “Lord Brighton mentioned in his missive that the castle was under sieged but surely there are a few good men who could help us.” Henry rubbed his eyes as if to clear his vision.

  “I have a friend who can help me escape, if I can slip from the house without being seen.” She ignored the rush of love that flowed through her at the scene of Henry as the protective father she’d hoped he’d be. They were all in danger as long as they remained in the house. All that was in her bade her take baby Sarah and disappear, but she couldn’t leave Henry behind.

  She had seen the blood lust in Fisher’s eyes when he spoke of eliminating the witnesses and escaping. He had the same look in his eyes as those who killed her servants and locked her inside the lodge to burn to death. The certainty of his intent chilled her bones. Fisher would not hesitate to kill them all when he had a chance.

  Henry groaned as he moved his wounded arm then settled once again. His color was better, but was he strong enough to escape?

  The sounds of an argument rose louder.

  Warning prickles strummed along her neck and spine. She listened but couldn’t make out the words. Unrest brewed in the men. Having stirred their superstitions, the tension was thick and their tempers short. She had mentioned the curse with every groan of the house or tree branch that scratched at the roof. If she could get them to turn on each other, getting Henry, Sarah, and Rebecca safely away from the brigands would be possible.